


Crocker Brand Romance: Now Sold in Stores

by saintjoy



Series: Sexy Crockers AU [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Universe, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Crocker Kid John, M/M, Stripper Karkat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:46:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintjoy/pseuds/saintjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a damp night in a bar showcasing any amateur who wished to take the stage, a full-time whore finds himself drinking his vision away in search for another client willing to fork him over some cash in exchange for his bodily pleasures. On the same damp night in a bar showcasing any amateur who wished to take the stage, a part-time baker, part-time prankster finds himself at the seat of an old piano on the makeshift platform playing a song he's known for ages.</p>
<p>Or, in which a piece of trash off the street and a spoiled heir to the totalitarian Betty Crocker Corporation end up in the oddest of relationships through the oddest of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A billboard suddenly lit up on a dim street, featuring a man in red suspenders and white shorts advertising some propaganda that people never seemed to give much mind to other than for show. Included among these people was a troll in a red overcoat, dulled from wear and age. His dirty red heels clacked against the damp sidewalk littered with muck that he'd long been accustomed to. It made him laugh when those who lived elsewhere dared to climb out of their sheltered habitats only to find a moment later that doing so would inadvertently soil their pristine white clothes. Nothing around there stayed very white for long, if at all. 

 

The troll came to a halt outside a hole-in-the-wall bar with a sign that proclaimed that night to be "Amateur's Night." A small bundle sat under the sign with a tin can by its side, presumably to hold spare change that more giving souls had to offer. This troll hardly was a giving soul, but he dropped a small coin in despite himself. The bundle shivered in a way that could be interpreted as a nod, and whispered, "May Her Imperious Condescension let you live another day." The red-clad troll scoffed to himself as he opened the sodden door and stepped into the crowded bar, giving the bundle a nudge with his foot on the way in.

 

A woman stood on the makeshift stage, singing [some jazzy song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v58NqcVEbXw) that the troll vaguely recognized from the small radio he had at the cardboard box of what barely could be considered his home. A man, presumably her partner, sat at the piano to her right, playing the slow accompaniment to her vocals. He didn't pay much attention to the musicians as he shoved his way through the crowd and forced himself onto a stool at the bar counter. The bartender looked up from the drink he was mixing to see the familiar face, and gave him a polite wave. "Evening, Vantas."

"Zahhak." Zahhak nodded at him as he placed the mixed drink onto the counter with great care; no sooner did a clearly intoxicated man scoop it up, down it all, and slam it back down on the counter with a mighty groan. The bartender looked at the man with visible disdain. "The usual."

"I can hardly say that there's anything else to be served." In one movement, the bartender poured out a sum of alcohol into a glass and placed it onto the counter, although he managed to crack it in the process. "Oh, fiddlesticks."

"It's not leaking, doesn't matter half a fuck to me," Vantas replied. He picked up the glass and swished the liquid inside it around, trying to decide if it was the glass or the liquid that was foggy with grime. With a sigh of discontent, he took a swig of the drink and set it back down on the counter. "Tastes like sugared shit, like always."

"You say that as if I could do much about it."

"Calm down, douchehead, I'm not trying to start a fight." He took another sip. "You're too sensitive for your own good." Zahhak crossed his arms and frowned.

"I am not."

"You are."

"False."

"I'm not playing this yes-no game again with you, you irritating bulgewhiff," Vantas suddenly barked, slamming his fist down on the counter and disturbing his drink. "Can't you find your moirail to do that with you?" The bartender's face darkened, the corners of his mouth turning down further.

"You know the situation with my moirail, Vantas." The troll in the red coat unclenched his fist and looked down.

"Right. Sorry." Zahhak gave him a short nod as he topped off the drink in front of him. "When do you expect to get the next shipment in?"

"Far after this one runs out." The bartender tapped the open barrel behind him as he spoke. "If it was up to me, I would have several barrels in here at once. You have experienced firsthand how terrible it gets when a bar has no alcohol to serve. However awful the alcohol it normally serves is." 

"Got that shit right. If the Batterbitch ever got around to banning alcohol for good I'm pretty sure more than half of the shitheads in here would shrivel up and die on the spot."

"I would venture to guess the same." Zahhak chuckled. "But for a serious moment, I think it best that you don't call Her Imperious Condescension by such a crude name, at least not so loudly."

"What's she gonna do, hear me?"

"Perhaps." Vantas leaned forward on the counter and aimed a bright red glare at the muscular troll in front of him.

"Are you implying you're going to rat my ass out to Crocker Corp?"

"Certainly not. I'm simply saying there's a possibility somebody else would."

"Well, to fuck with that. It's not like everyone else isn't thinking it." With that, Vantas took his glass into his hands and spun around on his stool to face the stage. The singer had her hands on her chest as the piano music swelled into the bridge of the song. Classic story of a failed caliginous relationship, Vantas thought to himself. Failed, because two dunderfucks let their hatred get in the way of their rivalry and one ended up killing the other. He hoped that whoever was left got culled for his sheer ignorance. Wouldn't want that shit in the gene pool. He finished the rest of his drink and blindly held it out for Zahhak to fill it again. It was disgusting swill, but if he was going to get some money that night, he might as well drink himself into thinking his client was mildly attractive. 

"Are you looking for a particular person tonight?" Zahhak's voice called Vantas to turn back around. He rolled his eyes.

"Only if they have a shitload of money and a night to waste." The bartender made a face. "Oh, come on, you prudish motherfuck."

"You know my position on your particular line of work."

"Yes, and your position is stupid. Money is money, and I'm not finding work much place else. Might as well use what I've already got." He emptied his glass in one gulp, and held it out again. "It'll also reimburse me threefold for the cash I'm gonna owe you by the end of the night. How much a glass, now?"

"It has dropped to about 3 boondollars."

"Oh. Ouch."

"Of course, that would be if Her Imperious Condescension failed to take her appropriate dues as taxes. Which, quite unfortunately for myself, she has not." Vantas grimaced and clutched his glass in simmering anger.

"You know there's always room in the business for others. Plenty of assho—"

"I must decline your offer posthaste, thank you!" Zahhak interrupted hurriedly, a layer of sweat forming on his forehead. "I can figure out possible emplodment situations for myself!"

"'Emplodment'?" Vantas repeated. "Alright, alright, don't sweat into the fucking beer. It was a goddamn joke." The bartender exhaled through his nose, and gave another short nod before turning back around. An applause rang throughout the bar as the pianist played his final chord and the vocalist bowed, and they both stepped down from the stage. A rumble of idle chatter filled the space that was occupied by the sound of music before. The troll in the red coat idly scanned the crowd for anyone he himself may be interested in before he would start offering himself to any person who wanted him. Predictably, he came up short. He took another long sip from his fourth of what would probably be eight glasses by the time he was done; he had always been conscious of his incredible tolerance for alcohol. It was going to be a long night, anyways.

 

A man in a modest grey coat approached a hole-in-the-wall bar and studied a sign that proclaimed that night to be "Amateur's Night." He grinned under the google-eyed beagle puss splayed across his face, obscuring his features so not to be recognized. As he went to knock on the damp door, he noticed a crumpled pile of blankets under the sign, and down the street two men chasing each other screaming expletives that made the man in the coat uncomfortable. They were shouting something about a can. Perhaps about money? The man shook his head in confusion as he turned around and knocked on the door with three bright taps.

 

He rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for no one to come answer him. He knew there were people inside; he could see movement inside the dusty window to the side of the door. He had been taught the hard way from day one to always knock before entering, but he started to think that it might be different in the city. The man hesitantly opened the door and stepped into a room crowded with people that stank of sweat, alcohol, and sex. He involuntarily wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar stenches and looked above dazed heads to find a makeshift stage with a small piano left empty. Was he able to simply go up there and play? The man looked around for a man-in-charge; he spotted the busy bar off to the side, and a bartender standing behind the counter and talking to another troll in a red coat. 

 

"Good evening, sir!" he cheerily greeted as he approached the counter. The bartender looked up, and the troll in the red coat shot a look at him over his shoulder. "Um, I was wondering if it wouldn't be a problem if I went up to the stage and fiddled around with the piano for a moment." It was always best to be polite, the man reminded himself. Even among those who may not appreciate it. "Unless it is already spoken for?" The bartender, smelling heavily of sweat and with an air of slight condescension, gave a curt shake of his head. "Alright, thank you!" The troll in the red coat still stared after him as he hopped over to the stage and sat himself down at the aged piano. A man who was any measure more self-aware would have realized that he probably looked very suspicious in his clever disguise, but due to the fact that John Crocker was not self-aware in the slightest, he took no notice to the odd looks that were being aimed up at him. He grinned to himself, feeling powerful behind the instrument he had grown up playing, and tapped out the first notes of a [too-familiar song.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHaiJrVyXlU)

 

It took a moment for John's audience to catch on to his presence on the stage; it tickled along their spines and twisted around their heads, shaking them awake from the drunken haze that had set upon them. A few couples stood from their tables and swung back and forth to the quick beat of the light music, spinning around and stumbling intoxicatedly over their own dirty feet. Men laughed and whistled at a woman in a burgundy dress who slipped over a spill on the floor and toppled over a table, girls squealed and giggled as their partners held their waists and twirled them around. John chuckled to himself as he dared to peer over the top of the piano to see what hullabaloo was happening while he played. All the people at the bar, save for those who were slumped over unconscious, were facing the stage with fogged beer glasses in hand, occasionally raising them in acknowledgement and yowling when the contents ended up spilled over their own heads. Should've worn a hat.

 

Vantas scowled as the man next to him tossed his drink into the air, spraying alcohol everywhere that it didn't belong. He didn't care how uplifting the music was, nor how drunk the man was, beer belonged in three places, and three places only: in the barrel, in the glass, and in one's stomach. He swiped a hand through his oily beer-sodden hair and grumbled, "Another glass," to Zahhak. Zahhak muttered something that he didn't quite catch—his senses were dulled by alcohol and the increasingly loud piano didn't help—but it got him another filled glass, and that he was pleased about. The man in the stupid disguise obviously wasn't from around there; he had the air of somebody whose dreams weren't mercilessly crushed by the Batterbitch and her five little fucked-up brats enough. Or of somebody who was too foolish to realize how awful everything was. Vantas made a strong bet on the latter as he sipped his seventh drink of the night. His stomach gargled at him, complaining about the lack of food it suffered from. If he didn't find a client soon he wasn't going to eat at all. "Goddammit," he hissed to himself.

"No one to entertain your lewd fantasies with?" Zahhak's voice piped up behind him in a smug way.

"Go fuck yourself with an oversized horse cock, shitsquat."

"Oh my." The bartender idly dabbed at his forehead with the towel in his hand; the troll in red appeared repulsed. 

"That's not an invitation for you to jerk yourself off under the counter while you play make-believe about horse cocks, you disgusting son of a fuck." Vantas rubbed his throbbing temples, and let out a slow breath. "There's a lonely fucker out there with money. Always is."

 

The man at the piano hummed delightfully to himself has he crescendoed into the bridge of the song, slamming his calloused fingers against the abused keys and shaking his head back and forth almost to the point of his fedora and beagle puss slipping off. He fumbled as he quickly adjusted them, but the people in the bar were too occupied by their own drunken shenanigans to pay any mind to his shortcomings. John straightened his back—he was raised to always have good posture—and held his breath as he reached the homestretch. He was lucky, too; his arms had started to get tired, his neck slick from nerves. He hurried up as much as he could to finish the song, and upon reaching the final chord he stood up and bowed to an enthusiastic applause. John so wanted to whip off his disguise and show the people who he really was, but he remembered just in time that he'd rather not get shot that night. The man in the grey coat stepped off the stage and wormed his way through the crowd that had immediately resumed its woeful drinking; a seat had opened up at the bar, a stool next to the troll in the red coat that really could've used a washing, in John's opinion. He grinned at the bartender as he politely requested a glass of beer. Boy, was he feeling adventurous that night! It was exhilarating. 

"You are hardly an amateur, sir," the bartender remarked as he placed John's glass on the counter. "Best performance of the night, if I were to be honest."

"Oh, thank you! Hahaha, I've had a few lessons, but I'm really not all that good." Say please and thank you. Be modest. Don't brag. John held the dirty beer glass in his hands, and took one sip before spitting it back into the bartender's face in a fine mist. Fff, fff—fudge! "Oh shh—shh, sugar! I'm sorry, oh gosh, wow!" Don't use foul language. "I'm so sorry, if there's anything I could do—"

"Please do kindly get out of here, sir," the bartender said sharply, his upper lip curling back to reveal his broken canine-like teeth. "I do not mean to threaten, but do get out of my sight as soon as possible." John practically jumped off the stool he was sitting on, but before he made a dash for the door he fished out a bill and tossed it onto the counter. With that, he hurried out with an embarrassed flushed staining his cheeks.

 

Zahhak picked up the note and inspected it closely; Vantas looked on, immediately sobering up as a result of his interest. "Is that…?" he questioned, his eyes wide.

"Please be quiet, I don't want others to hear," Zahhak shushed. "Fifty boondollars."

"Fifty!" Vantas repeated. "Holy shit. I'd let that bulgefuck spit in my face if I got paid fifty fucking boondollars for it." The bartender quickly pocketed the money with a small smile on his face. "Fifty boondollars for a shitty bartender."

"I will take offense to that."

"Eat shit, I'm getting a piece of that." Vantas quickly shifted off his seat, eyes locked on the door where the man in the grey coat exited, and blindly placed a sum of money on the counter. "Thanks for the drinks. 'Night."

"I want to wish you luck, but that would mean I condone your lascivious behavior," Zahhak sighed. "Even so, the sentiment is there." The troll in red gave a backwards wave of acknowledgment, and rushed out in search of the wealthy stranger.

 

To his surprise, it took Vantas no time to locate said stranger. In the dim red and orange light of a strip club he was all too familiar with, the troll could spot that stupid white fedora bobbing around with the stranger's movements in the backstreet. He smirked to himself. A more perfect moment could only have been handed to him on a ruby-encrusted platter. He hurried across the wet street, not bothering to look for oncoming cars, his red heels making soft clacks on the asphalt as he approached the man outside the club. "Got a problem with alcohol?" The man in the grey coat looked up.  His eyebrows were raised enough to show behind the fake ones of the beagle puss. 

"Oh! No, not at all," he replied. "It, ahem, wasn't exactly what I was expecting. A bit sweet, it was." Vantas squinted. Funny manner of speaking.

"You've had something that tastes better?"

"Occasionally, yes. Sometimes a bit of wine."

"Shit, whose bulge did you have to suck to get a taste of that? I want in." The stranger's freckled cheeks turned red; he scratched the back of his neck.

"I don't believe I caught your name, sir." He stuck out a hand. Vantas slapped it.

"Vantas. Karkat Vantas. Yours?" The stranger squirmed a bit, as if he was struggling to actually remember it.

"John."

"Just John?"

"Erm, yes. I don't believe too much in giving my last name out to strangers." 

"We don't have to be strangers, hon." Karkat shifted forward and locked eyes with John. "You're hardly an amateur with your hands, are you?" John tugged at his collar and flinched backwards, only to find a wall blocking him from doing so.

"Y-You mean on the piano, yes? Well, I'm honestly not all that skilled—"

"Oh, don't play that modest bullshit with me. I'm not buying it." The man in the grey coat chuckled for some reason that piqued Karkat's curiosity. He smirked, leaned an elbow on one side of John. "Got a secret to hide from me, shitface?"

"No, n-not at all!" John stammered, visibly shivering from how close Karkat had gotten. His hands were raised against the wall as if he were trying his best to appear as chaste as possible. Karkat could hardly be fooled. He placed another elbow above John's head, getting close enough to feel the man's quickened breaths brush across his grey skin. "Um…"

"Did you come around here with that kind of money looking for somebody?" Karkat tilted his chin down and aimed a red-eyed look at the man in the fedora that his colleagues often referred to with great notoriety. His lips were parted, showing his rather blunt canine teeth that were favored among humans, his eyes glowed under long eyelashes, his nostrils flared out in intrigue. A shudder sprinted down John's spine and rolled like rippling waves from his shoulders to the very tips of his fingers. Karkat let one of his eyebrows rise, a micro-movement. "Take off that asinine disguise and let me see your eyes," the troll in the red coat whispered, trailing an index finger from the corner of John's jaw to his chin. He flicked the fedora off his paralyzed head, revealing his wavy black hair (that Karkat could've sworn he recognized), and moved to slip the glasses off as well.

 

"Um!" In a split second, Karkat was airborne; in another second, he was skidding on the cold ground and gasping for air. John snatched up his hat and shoved his mask far up his nose. He made a start to go help the troll to his feet, but the embarrassment and anxiety sitting in his throat made his feet pound down the pavement as fast as he could, shouting, "Sorry sir I have to go right now immediately I will meet you at another time thank you good night!" in one stiff breath. By the time Karkat stood and brushed himself off, the man in the grey coat was far away. The troll growled angrily at himself, his lips curling back like a dog's.

"For the love of the god that thrust us all into a living hell, what the flying ass-shitting kringlefuck was that about." He clutched his chest where the man had shoved him, still struggling to breathe. "Globefondling _batshit_ , that hurts." Karkat stumbled down the street, defeated and pessimistic, and made his way back to the place he hardly called home.

 

Scratched into the wooden door was a single word: "Slick." Karkat shouldered his way in, knowing for a fact that no one was inside to bark at him when he failed to knock first. He heard the faint hum of a familiar scratchy radio, finding that a certain neglectful excuse for a caretaker had failed to turn it off on his way out. Feeling too tired to bother, Karkat left [the song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Br294PLbHBA) to play its somewhat cheerful little tune. He stripped himself of his ratty coat and exchanged it for a less ratty sweater that still remained to be far too big for his thinly muscled frame. No sooner did he flop down on the moldy-smelling couch that he had to get up again to answer a hurried knock from outside. Karkat pulled the sticky door open, only to find one person that he really did not feel like dealing with at the moment.

"Exactly how long were you sneaking around in the fucking bushes waiting for me to come home this time, prickshit?" Karkat snarled at the man in front of him that he knew only as his biological older brother, and nothing more.

"Last time I checked, Karkat, my name was not a combination of expletives that hardly make any sense at all, and rather Kankri Vantas," the man replied, looking very put off by Karkat's unhappy greeting. "May I please come in?" Karkat growled to himself, before stepping back and allowing Kankri room to enter. He shut the door behind them with a strong slam! and leaned against it with arms crossed.

"Why the fuck are you in my hive for another night, you chattering nookhumping bastard." He paused. "Wait, don't answer that: I know why you're here and the answer is fuck no, get out and never contact me again."

"Is that not the answer that you give to me every time I come around?" Kankri asked as he placed a towel on the couch and sat on it. "And yet I still return. Why do you think that is?"

"It's because you're a festering pile of assmaggots, is why." Karkat trudged across the room and turned up the volume on the radio. "Who made you that sweater, your foster mother?"

"My sister, actually," the older troll corrected, thumbing the collar of his red turtleneck. "I can see you're still living with our dearest uncle Spades."

Karkat scoffed. "You call this living? More like merely coexisting in the same shitty excuse for a home." He casually turned the volume on the radio up a bit more.

"You know that the offer still stands for you to—"

"—come live with you in your nice little home on the corner of I-Suck-The-Batterbitch's-Nook-For-A-Living Avenue and I'm-A-Privileged-Assjam Street? Like fuck I will." Kankri pursed his lips.

"I'd really rather you not throw around terms like 'privileged' in that manner," he said, his voice raised to overpower the music. "It could be interpreted as offensive."

"So you don't, in fact, deny that you suck Her Imperious Bitchiness' nook for a living. No wonder your lips always resemble those of someone who just got a whiff of some foul-smelling shit."

"You and I both know for a fact that I do not like Her Imperious Condescension's rule as much as you do!" Kankri suddenly yelled in exasperation. "And would you please turn that noise down so I can speak without anyone but you and I hearing?" Karkat cocked his head to the side, but complied as he turned the radio's knob down a notch. "Thank you."

"Just tell me that you disapprove of my lifestyle for the nth time so I can promptly kick your ass and let the door hit you on the way out." The troll in the red sweater folded his hands and put on a tight frown. 

"It's unfortunate how well you tend to know me."

"Because it's so fucking difficult to guess what you're going to say when you've come here every other week for the past sweep saying the same exact shit over, and over, and over again."

Kankri sighed. "A troll can only hope that another would change their mind one day." He curled the hem of his sweater. "I just wish what I think is best for you."

"Yeah, well, that's your own opinion. I'm getting by just fine. In fact, I got three clients on my ass the other night. 250 boonies each. Had a grand old meal of baked beans and cornbread." Kankri made a quick decision to not bring up his own opinions on his brother's line of work and opted for another question.

"Homemade?"

"Do you see a fucking oven in this hive, asswagon?" Kankri dared to let out a snigger.

"No, I suppose not." He stood from the couch and folded up his towel, and moved towards his younger brother to give him a pat on the shoulder. Karkat flinched backwards; Kankri's face fell and he retracted his hand. "I'll see you soon, Karkat."

"Yeah, take your time." Kankri nodded, a weak smile crossing his lips. "Now fuck off, asshole. Try not to get fucked in the seedflap on your way back to Crocker Corp Bitch Boulevard."

"I am glad you care enough to warn me beforehand." Kankri quietly tugged the door open and waved at Karkat as he left. "Good night."

"'Night." The song on the radio drew to a close; Karkat shut the thing off entirely and flopped down on the couch once more. He grabbed a blanket off the arm and tugged it over his sore body, and with that struggled in the cold wetness to get himself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

John Crocker found himself standing outside a familiar bar three nights later, fidgeting in the cold. He toyed with the legs of his beagle puss, tapped his feet on the dark pavement in an attempt to calm his nerves before he walked in. The bar was not as busy as it was the last time, though John could not suppress a shudder of disgust from the stenches that assaulted his nose. He immediately went for the counter and waved amicably at the muscular troll standing behind it. "Um, good evening, sir!" The bartender looked up; a slight frown crossed his face.

"Good evening," he replied, his voice clipped.

"I was here a few nights ago."

"So you were." John absently rubbed the collar of his coat.

"Erm, by any chance, would you know where that man in the red jacket would be at this time of night?" He paused as he recalled a name. "A Karkat Vantas?"

The bartender furrowed his brow. "I never was one to purposefully deliver him a client, but…," he pointed out the grubby window, "…most likely he is there." John looked over his shoulder and nodded.

"Alright, thank you, sir!" As he turned around, he dropped a bill onto the counter. "Have a good night." The bartender didn't respond, only watched as John left as quickly as he had arrived. He inspected the bill—it was another fifty boondollars. He squared it, placed it in his shirt pocket, and resumed his work as before, if not a bit more cheerful.

 

The man in the grey coat hurried across the street outside, making sure to look both ways twice despite there being no signs of any cars coming at all. He approached a building colored red and orange from the dim lights inside; a neon sign above the glass doors screamed the name "Strider's," and the windows were shrouded with gaudy curtains. John did a double take from the dingy bar across the street to the building in front of him; the drastic change in scenery over just a few yards boggled his mind. Don't go in. Go in. He scratched the back of his neck idly and took a breath, counting in his head as he exhaled. There was nothing to worry about. He was choosing to do this. With an impulse twitch of his muscles, John went for the door and stepped into the humid haze of the club.

 

A woman in a scanty bikini approached John first off with a sanguine smile on her face. "'Ello, dearie," she drawled in a thick accent. "'Ere for a show?"

"Uh." John focused on the woman's face, did his best to be polite and not make her feel uncomfortable with any lingering eyes of his. "I'm… here to see, erm, a Karkat Vantas? Is he here?" Another woman nearby dropped in with a half-grin.

"Ohoho, you wanna see our little Cherry Slick, dontcha?" she asked. "Talented little cutie that one. 'E's got a public show in about 'alf an 'our. Unless you're lookin' for somethin' a little more private?"

"Gotta pay extra for that!" the first woman piped up.

"I have to pay to see him? I simply want to talk to him, that's all!" The second woman rubbed up against his hip, aiming him a smirk.

"Sure you do, sugar. It's only ten boonies if you can wait for a bit, but if you wanna get some private time it's up to 'round twenty-five. Can you cover that?" John squirmed, trying to politely turn the woman off her advances.

"I don't really understand what you're talking about, sorry, miss! Can't you just get him out here so I can talk to him?" The two women laughed.

"You're a funny boy, what with your silly nose glasses and 'at. 'And over twenty-five boonies and you can 'ave all the time you want to talk to 'im. Well, at least 'alf an 'our. 'Ow about it?" The man in the grey coat sighed. Well, whatever it took. His mother wasn't going to be happy about him spending all this money. The first woman extended a hand as he took out two bills, and the second woman clung to his arm. "Thank you very much, 'oney! We'll take you to a special room just for you and 'im, and we 'ope you'll 'ave the best of times."

 

"Yo, Karclitten." Karkat looked up with a scowl at the man standing in his doorway.

"It's not 8:00 yet, what the flaming shit do you want, Stridick," he snarled. "Back for another round? Gonna pay me this time?" The man stepped into the dressing room—without permission, of course—and gave a short laugh.

"Very funny, Crabkat. We all know who really should be the one getting paid here." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's a darn shame I'm not into that sorta business as much as you. But if I was I'd have more bitches on me than dogs on trees. Dogs be barking up those damn trees looking for some damn cats or some shit, but those pussies ain't coming down nohow, nope, they've got a pretty sweet deal up in that tree with their other cat bitches and hookahs, aw yeah, that's the life right there."

"Is there a point to all of this garbage or did you just come here in fast-failing hopes that someone would be bored enough to listen to the constant stream of shit coming out of your mouth?"

"Oh, yeah. You've got a private request. One show, no strings attached." The troll aimed him a look. 

"He couldn't contain his boner long enough for the show in half an hour? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Look, it's one show, asshole. 4 minutes tops. Quit bitching and get ready." The blonde man tilted his mirrored shades down just a bit to get a better look at Karkat. "Unless you need me to help you with that." Karkat rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Narcissistic prick."

"Cutie pie."

"Fuck you."

"If that's a question, the answer is fuck _yes_." All of a sudden, Karkat surged up, shoved the obnoxious man out, and slammed the door in his face. He ran his clawed fingers through his hair and pulled at it in frustration. Should be fucking illegal for someone to be forced into two shows within half an hour of each other. It's tiring, he needed rest, goddammit! Karkat grumbled to himself as he stripped down and got into an outfit he'd been told was his best. It was a private show after all. He better get tipped.

 

"Just come in through 'ere, dearie, take a seat right 'ere and wait for lil' Slick to get 'is ass out 'ere." John sat in a large cushy chair that faced a room blocked off by clear plexiglass, colored with the same red and orange lights that coated the entire club. A platform with a single metal pole extended from its floor to the ceiling, only serving to confound John further. He looked behind him to ask the women that brought him there a question, but found himself alone in the dark room. He folded his hands and placed them in his lap. At least the seat was comfortable. 

 

Without warning, a figure appeared through a previously unseen door on the other side of the glass. The lights brightened, making it hard for John to see who the figure was. He squinted his eyes, and as they adjusted he saw the vaguely familiar silhouette of one Karkat Vantas.

 

"Wow," John whispered to himself, involuntarily. He slapped a palm over his lips and blushed as his vision focused and Karkat's features became more defined. An open red vest with nothing underneath, leather shorts that extended mid-thigh, those red high heels from just a few nights ago, now glossed and clean, and a single thin chain around his neck with a pendant that resembled a symbol John had only seen once or twice. He stared; and Karkat stared back. The troll had a look of incredulity, such that John had to chuckle a bit from how surprised he was. But when a smirk replaced it, the man in the grey coat shuddered and folded back into his seat.

 

The John kid was back for more. Maybe Karkat would win him as a client after this as well. He aimed a perfect smirk at the guy in the beagle puss as he stretched his shoulders and legs, prolonging the movements to get a rise out of John. He seemed uncomfortable. _Good_. He made a quick hand gesture that John couldn't follow, and at that, the music set by the younger Strider [strolled out of the speakers.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-h-AjzHErqI)

 

Karkat strutted up the few stairs, swinging his hips back and forth in the swagger he taught to himself. He trailed a hand across the cold metal pole, then gripped it as he spun around it and leaned to the side. He hooked a slender leg around the pole and turned to the other side, using his grip as a center of balance to keep him rotating around and around, making John feel a bit dizzy from watching him go. The lyrics began to sing, and at that Karkat pushed himself off the ground and wrapped his other knee around. He climbed, sliding his arms and legs gratuitously down and rubbing his hips against the pole to the beat of the tune blasting in his ears. For the love of fuck, couldn't Strider turn it down just a bit? 

 

John watched unblinking as the troll in front of him twisted his body and gently shrugged the red vest off his shoulders with his spine bent backwards and his arms extended below him. Though the tightness of his shorts seemingly left nothing to the imagination, the curve of his ass and the odd suppleness of his half-hidden thighs said otherwise to John Crocker. He almost cursed himself upon feeling his pants grow more taut, he furrowed his brow upon finding that he was even thinking about the troll's very attractive ass, oh gosh, he was getting so very flustered but he could not get his rigid body to move an inch from his seat. The way Karkat swayed, oh, how he swayed and spread his legs in the air and made it seem that he was about to fall when he really was perfectly balanced; it was beautiful, he was beautiful indeed. 

 

The red vest fell to the floor as the troll curled around the pole and slid down with his back against it. He aimed a mesmerizing stare at the man in the grey coat—John shivered and played with his fingers in an attempt to calm himself down. Karkat stepped away from the beam for a moment to catch his breath, but used his time well to clasp his hands behind his head and expose his entire chest for John to take in. He allowed his hands to wander down his own body, stroking his sides and working down his hips and thighs in a way that made a drop of drool drip out John's lips. He quickly wiped it away with his sleeve, embarrassed, but he never took his eyes off the gorgeous troll before him. 

 

A single index finger rose to Karkat's parted lips, in a way that made him look like he was shushing John despite the man not making any sound at all. He rolled his hips side to side and fingered the waistband of his tight shorts, slipped a clawed thumb underneath the fabric in the most teasing way. He nibbled and tongued his finger; he gazed at John, he intimidated him with the allure that grabbed onto John and had pulled him forward so that his stomach was on his knees and his neck was craned to get closer. Excruciatingly slow, oh-so suspenseful, Karkat Vantas was the master of riling his customers up into a heated tizzy. The troll trailed his wet finger down the front of his chest to meet his other hand at the edge of his shorts, slipped another thumb beneath it, and to the rhythm of the music shook his hips until the black leather dropped away.

 

Karkat let a shiver stroll down his back at the free sensation on his excited bulge that writhed and searched for something to cling onto. He went back up to the pole and jumped straight to the top, turning horizontally and gasping in pleasure as his bulge wrapped around the hard metal and oozed a slick red liquid that slid down the beam and dripped onto the floor. John had long started gnawing on his fist, hadn't blinked throughout the entire performance, wondered how the fuc—fudge he got himself into such a situation. He wanted to talk. What he got ate at him hungrily and tore at his very foundation, urged him to give in to the troll before him. His breathing had become heavy and quick, his face redder and hotter than the material that leaked out of Karkat's appendage. He licked his lips. He watched.

 

With every beat, Karkat spun and flipped around the pole in a tangle of arms and legs that seemed like a puzzle to be solved. He suddenly jumped off, only to stretch his hand out and catch himself mid-fall, then to twist himself around and turn upside down, legs turned up in a "V" and bulge lusciously flicking and curling around the beam. The troll whirled around to face John, slowly folded his legs backwards, and righted himself in a way that his hands were bound to the pole and his knees were against his chest. He drank in the stare from John's hidden eyes, almost smirked, and carefully slid down the pole to a resting position. He stood, he walked down from the stage with red heels clicking and necklace swinging, and gave himself a prolonged stroke with a fully audible moan. With the red material dripping out of his squirming bulge, he wrote on his chest three words:

 

"Fuck me, John."

 

The music ended and the lights dimmed once more, and Karkat exited the room on the other side of the plexiglass with a flick of his tongue and wink of his eye. John sat in stiff silence, his toes curled in his shoes and his hand almost bleeding from how hard he was biting it. He blinked a few times, made a few failed attempts to control his quickened breathing. A door opened behind him, and one of the women who brought him there came in and stroked a hand across his shoulder. "Did you 'ave a good time, 'on?" she giggled. John bit his lip as he dared to look up at her.

"Could you kindly direct me to the restroom, miss?"

 

After making sure that no one else was in the bathroom, John took off his beagle puss and washed his pale freckled face, and ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to rid it of sweat. He was sure that he saw a hallway just to the left of the bathroom, if only he could head down there and see, just see if he could still talk to Karkat. The man in the grey coat flinched when he saw his cheeks flush in the mirror. It was going to take him a very long time to recover from that experience, if ever. Would he ever tell Jake about it? He supposed he would have to, especially with what he wanted to do.

 

John slipped quietly out of the bathroom, his disguise back in place, and looked left, looked right; unguarded. He ducked through the beaded ropes as smooth as he could and stepped down the hallway with a silence he mastered from his consistent pranking. It took patience and perseverance to truly execute a perfect prank, he had always learned. Through the cracks of doors came the faint chuckling of other performers; John dashed through the pauses of darkness so not to be seen, and continued down the hall to find one closed door. He squinted his eyes to see the scrawling on the painted wood: "Cherry Slick." Didn't those women call Karkat that? Or were they referring to someone else? The man in the grey coat scratched the back of his neck. Go for it anyways. He reached out with a loose fist, and made a faint knock on the door.

 

"Strider, I'm not in the fucking mood for more of you—" An irritated voice sounded as the door swung open to reveal Karkat, still shirtless but now wearing a loose pair of sweatpants. He had washed the red slime off, John saw. "How did you get back here?" was his first question. He shook his head. " _Why_ are you back here?" He shook his head again. "I have a show in twenty-five minutes, but I never was a person to deny a fuck when it comes to my door begging on its knees and waving money under my nose like smelling salts. Wakey wakey, Karkat, time to get aroused again and have your asshole brutally fucked by yet another horny human!" 

"Um." Karkat pulled him inside and shut the door behind them, and turned to face John with a vaguely annoyed look.

"But I swear to god if you keep that moronic-as-shit beagle puss or whatever the hell it's called on I'm going to top your ass so I don't have to see your face hovering above me."

"Um!" John flapped his hands a bit in an attempt to get himself a space to talk. "I really just wanted to talk to you, Mr. Vantas!"

"You're making me sound like I'm your average horny school principal, John. Unless you're into roleplay and other things like that." He suddenly pushed John against the door and ground his hips against the man. "Glad you decided to pick me up, hon," he whispered with a hot breath into John's ear. "Let's see that face of yours. Hope you're not hiding a mountain range of teenaged acne on your nose." As John struggled to keep up with the troll's odd changes of attitude, he lagged behind just enough that he realized a split second too late that Karkat had stolen the beagle puss off his face. 

 

The two stood frozen, Karkat's burning red eyes staring straight into John's fully visible blue ones. He let the beagle puss fall out of his hands as he stepped back, staring at the entirety of the human before him. "John Cro—" Just as the name began to grace his lips, John surged forward and clasped a tight hand around his mouth.

"Please don't freak out, please don't freak out, please don't hurt me, don't shoot me, please please please!" John talked over him, his heartbeats erratic. "Please, oh gosh, please be quiet, please please don't say anything, don't hurt me, oh gosh oh gosh!" John Crocker was in Karkat's room. John Crocker, youngest son of the most despised yet most powerful empress in history, was standing in Karkat's room and begging Karkat not to hurt him. John Crocker was on his knees.

 

_Cha-ching._

 

"Please, Karkat, don't say anything, I just came here to talk, I, I, I, please come with me, I don't know!" John's fingers trembled as he spoke. "I, I just want you, to come with me, please? Ugh, oh my gosh, wow, fuc— fudge! Uh, um!" Karkat wrenched the man's hand off his mouth; the man let out a flinching "eep!"

"You're the one still talking, bulgestain." He drew circles into John's palm with his thumb. "Sure, I'll come with you. Pay now or later?" John threw him a puzzled look. "Alright, later. Don't blow me off like a little cocky fuck or I'll shove my foot up your ass so far you'll taste my pointy red heels for weeks."

"I, uh, don't really know what you're talking about!" John insisted.

"Sure you don't. Let's go, we got twenty minutes and I'm not getting any hornier." Karkat was going to eat well that night, for sure. He began to make a start out the door, but John dodged in and stopped him. "Excuse me?"

"Um—"

"You say 'um' a lot, it's getting on my goddamn nerves like the way you need to get on my ass."

"Can we please slow down for a moment, here!" John exclaimed. Karkat stared at him, arms crossed over his bared skin. "I would like you to come with me back to my house. I, I do not really know why I would have to pay you, but I'm just really oddly confused right now about things but the point is that I want you to come with me! Back to, you know, my own house!" He paused for a breath. "Don't ask me why, I don't know! I don't know anything except that you have to come with me, and you have to come with me now." Shit. Was that an order? What was even the fucking protocol when John Crocker came into one's dressing room and told one to come back with him to his hive? If he obeyed, it could be a ruse and he could be culled. If he disobeyed, he would _definitely_ be culled. There was nothing he could do.

"Alright. Just give me a few goddamn minutes to pick up the few belongings I have and tell my dickcrunching excuses for bosses to cancel the show, alright?" John gave him a distressed look, but nodded if with hesitance. He stepped out of the way as Karkat shoved on a red t-shirt and slipped into the hallway. The troll padded in the darkness, using his memory to find the obnoxious office where the two men by the name of Strider resided. Without knocking, he walked in to find the younger of the two straddling the older's lap on their shared cinderblock desk. "Oh god fuck, you've got to be kidding me." The younger brother sent him a nonchalant roll of his eyes, but it fell on blind eyes due to his own being covered by the dark shades he wore.

"Your fault for bursting in like a rhinoceros into a building made of glass. Then again, it probably wasn't very smart of those damn architects or whoever-the-fuck to make a building outta glass, anyways. Never know when some damn rhinos are gonna go on a rampage and knock that shit down like it's a guy on stilts."

"The more you talk, the more secondhand embarrassment I feel for your despicable existence, Strider," Karkat snarled. "Either way, call off my show. I'm going out."

"Excuse me?" came the older brother's voice. "Look, Vantas, as aware I am of how tough times are, I don't take much liking to a performer who blows off a show to go suck some guy's dick for cash."

"No, you dimwitted fuck, it's not that." The troll closed the door with his foot and dared to near the two Striders. "Don't say shit. John Crocker is standing in my dressing room. He wants me to come with him back to the Crocker hive." Although their eyes were hidden by their shades, the two blonde men blinked in synchronization.

"Well then. Say hi to Jake for me."

"Don't get your ass culled, Kittenkat." Karkat growled and gripped his forehead.

"Very funny. I'm out of here, be back or not. Don't try to miss me too much, doucheballoons." He turned on his heels, slammed the door behind him, leaving the two Striders alone once more. They allowed a pause to pass before speaking again.

"I can perform instead of his troll ass, you know." The older brother snorted.

"Like hell you can, you mediocre little shit. Get off my lap, I'm already spoken for." The man in the aviators shrugged and dismounted, but gave his brother a punch on the shoulder.

"He won't be back. Not for a while."

"Try not to cry over it, Dave."

"Oh, fuck you."

 

The next thing he knew, Karkat had his red coat around his shoulders and his single bag in his hand. The damp air smacked him in the face as he followed John down the street, staying close behind. John had reaffixed his beagle puss to his face—it amused Karkat how he legitimately thought that it was a decent disguise (ignoring that he himself was fooled by it)—and was hurrying at a pace a half step faster than what the troll could normally keep up with. Karkat's eyes wandered up to the bright billboards above the dark buildings, and took a new notice of the subject featured upon them; a man in red suspenders and white shorts, and nothing more save for the blue glasses upon his face. Not bad-looking at all. Especially since the same man was right in front of Karkat at that very moment. 

 

At the top of a particularly steep hill, John stopped to catch his breath and asked for Karkat to do the same. He listened to the man breathe and looked over the horizon: he could see the intimidating presence of the palace-sized Crocker hive. Expected when the sociopathic empress who resided in it with her cake-zombie bastard children was obsessed with hoarding massive amounts of cash. His heart shook in his chest at the remembrance that he was walking right into the lion's open mouth, yanking at its tongue and jumping on its gums. He had to be careful. One word from a Crocker, and he'd be a mere mist of his humanlike blood.

 

"Erm, if you don't mind my asking…" Karkat faced John. "I've been thinking for a moment, and…" He picked at his nails to avoid the troll's bright red gaze. "You wouldn't be, a, prostitute?" If it had been anyone else, Karkat quite possibly would have thrown himself off the side of the hill. He gnashed his teeth together and bit his tongue in order to keep himself from screaming, "Are you a fucking idiot!?" into John Crocker's face (for it recently dawned upon him that he should be watching his words around the man in the grey coat; as much of a ditz he was, he still had a shitload of power).

"No, _shit._ " Yes, he did a very good job of watching his words. John uttered a breathy chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. 

"Oh dear, I really have to say sorry now! For all the confusion and such. Wow, I feel really dumb right now, haha." Karkat frowned. "I mean, not that you aren't a really attractive guy, er, it just didn't really dawn upon me since I don't really get out much, I don't really know all these weird things and—"

"So, what, now that you've realized this you're gonna leave me here to walk back on my own?" Karkat interrupted. "You're not looking for someone like me?" he continued with bitterness seeping into his voice.

"No, no, definitely not! I still want to take you home—wait! Aargh, um, how do I word this? I'm not going to leave you here, no. And, I mean I'm not exactly looking for one of those kinds of experiences, I don't… think? But I'd still like to have you around? If that makes sense?" He rapidly shook his head. "I probably didn't think this through nearly as much as I should have."

"I'm so glad that you cared to realize it when you've already massively disrupted the sorry excuse of my pathetic fucking existence, thank you so much." John opened his mouth to reply, but Karkat kept going. "What do you even know about me that makes me seem remotely pleasant to have around? No, actually, I suppose that if you did know anything about me past the fact that all I can offer is my own goddamn body for your sexual enjoyment, you'd probably turn skyward and erupt like a fiery vomit volcano." All of a sudden, the man in the grey coat placed his hands on either of Karkat's shoulders. A look was sewn into his face that screamed of pity.

"I don't know. I don't know a single thing. It's something in my head, or my gut, or whatever that would be, that's telling me to do it. I don't know why. And I'm pretty sure that Mama isn't going to be happy in the least if she ever sees you. But… gosh, to be honest with you I haven't really been here before! And I… can't stand to see a guy like you being forced to sell himself out in such a way, and. It gets boring when the only people you've interacted with all your life are either your family or dead!" He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm confused."

Karkat matched his sigh. "Really, I couldn't tell." He shrugged the man's hands off his shoulders and rolled his eyes. "Look, I'll come with you." _Since you're obviously not used to not getting your way._ "You're John nookhumping Crocker, it's not like I can just say no." John said nothing. _So you don't deny it_. "Figure out what you want and get back to me. And for the love of a footfucking bulgelick, stop being so overbearingly polite. It reminds me of my obnoxious older brother and if we actually do get around to fucking, that's the last thing I want to be thinking about." _Next to the fact that you're John_ fucking _Crocker, holy shitpringle._  

"Haha, I guess it's become sort of a habit." He idly tweaked his coat collar between his fingers. "But you're a bit easier to… let loose around. In my opinion."

"Great, glad to clear all this up. To summarize, you basically want me as your house pet because you're bored of the luxurious life you live." As soon as he finished, he regretted saying it upon seeing the guilty look on John's face. "Wait, shit, I didn't mean—"

"I know." A solemn smile. "I'm sorry."

 

As much as Karkat thought he should have given a shit that he was about to sneak into the Crocker hive to practically live with John Crocker, and that he really should be minding his language, he spectacularly failed to give even a single shit whatsoever. He decided to abandon the attempt entirely: if he was getting culled, he may as well go out as he lived. That is, like a foul-mouthed whore. Or, he guessed, he was more like a rented matesprit at this point. Rented. An object. That's what he was, when it came down to it, wasn't he?

 

The highblood guards at the front gate were asleep. "Don't tell anyone," John whispered to him with a giggle as they walked by. The two ascended a grand flight of stairs well over thirty feet wide, and finally came to the huge front door, red and emblazoned with the pronged symbol of Betty Crocker. And John knocked.

"What are you, stupid?" Karkat hissed. "What if the Batterbi— Her Imperial Condesce answers?"

"Nah, Mama's not home," the man in the grey coat hummed. "It's just a courtesy, I guess." At that moment, the door opened just a crack and light filtered out into the dark. John grinned at Karkat and led him inside, and quickly close it behind them. Karkat surveyed the enormous room he stood in: warm vanilla walls, cushy fuchsia couches, bright red carpets and gold lamps. Homey, but still gaudy. "Hehe, welcome. You wanna go to my room?" The troll looked over his shoulder. For a man who was supposed to be 26, he sure did act like a kid. Karkat mentally attributed it to his being spoiled rotten from birth.

"Yeah. Sure."

 

John's room was, predictably, as gaudy as the front room. He had a king-sized bed with several thick blankets and even more fluffy pillows, large windows—oh wait, they were doors, Karkat noticed—that encompassed one wall, and ceiling-high bookshelves and drawers that encompassed another. A portrait of Her Imperial Condescension hung over the head of the bed. _Creepy_. "Here, I can put your stuff somewhere." John held out a hand to take Karkat's bag, but the troll clung onto it protectively.

"And have you hide it? Fuck no. Direct me to where I can place my shit so I can promptly place my shit there." John looked hurt, but he pointed to the very bottom row of drawers along the wall. "Thank you." He stripped off his coat and left it on the floor; while he was at it, he stripped off his t-shirt as well, since the house was warm to the intoxicating degree. John picked up both articles of clothing, folded them, and placed them next to Karkat to store away. He opened up another drawer and placed his own coat, beagle puss, and fedora in it, and took out a blue pair of wired glasses. "So those aren't just for show."

"No, I do actually need them!" John replied. "Honestly, I was half-blind throughout my entire outing since I had the beagle puss on. But I, ahem, was able to see enough to understand what was going on."

"Hm." The troll landed on the bed with a flop and discovered that it was literally the softest thing he had ever felt. He wriggled towards the edge of the covers and curled up underneath them, rested his head on a bright red pillow. John chuckled. "What, dipfuck?"

"You're pretty cute. I say that unabashedly."

"Cute. I've never gotten that before save for my moronic colleagues calling me so teasingly."

"Well, you can never say that again, now!" Karkat clenched his teeth as he felt a heat spill into his cheeks. "I'm going to go take a bath. If you need me, I'm right down the hall to the second right. Okay?" The troll shifted in a way that John interpreted as a nod. "Okay." The door opened and closed, and Karkat was alone. Alone in the bed of one John Crocker, who wanted to keep him around for "reasons." That wasn't so bad. John Crocker was hardly a bad-looking guy. Alright, admit it, Karkat, he was fucking smoking. No matter how utterly insane she was, the Condesce wasn't blind and wasn't stupid. He was her very favorite propaganda poster boy. If anything, Karkat should feel lucky.

 

He smirked. Lucky. He'd see who was the one getting lucky that night. Karkat slipped out from under the blankets and edged out the door, wearing only the sweatpants he brought from the club. He followed the directions John gave to him—while trying to ignore the eerie familial photos that plastered the walls—and found himself standing in a humid and steamy room. The troll coughed a bit from the change of environment, and walked further inside to see a pool-sized bath, soapy and smelling sickly sweet. John leaned on one side of the pool with his arms draped around the marble walls and his eyes closed. Without a sound, Karkat stripped out of the clothes he had on, and dipped into the bath. "Aarrrgh! Karkat!?" came John's exclamation when the troll suddenly appeared in front of the blue-eyed man. "Wow, haha, I didn't hear you come in!"

"That was the point, moron." Karkat leaned forward, his chest almost touching John's.

"Um, uh…" John blinked, blushed. "Erm, Karkat? What are you doing?" The troll, his lips brushing against John's ear, smirked.

"I'm getting the soap, you oblivious fuckwaffle," he whispered. He gave his ear a slight nibble, and retreated with a bar of soap in his hand. John had forgotten that he left it on the floor behind him. "Thanks."

"You're… very welcome?" John shook his head. "So… tell me about yourself. If you want, I mean." Karkat sent him a glare.

"Politeness. Cut it out."

"Oh, right! Sorry." What was with this guy? It was like he would just obey anybody that gave him an order. Fucked up Crockers. "Still, I wanna know more about you."

Karkat turned his back to John as he began to soap up. "What's there to know? I'm a 12 sweep old whore who strips sometimes and lives in a shitty one-story shack on the side of the road." John pursed his lips.

"I don't think you're a whore."

"Well think again, fuckface. I'm the biggest whore there is. Three clients a night on average, five if I start early. My asshole has been fucked so hard it could pass for my nook if a person wasn't educated in basic biology. I'm the whoriest whore that ever whored. Don't try fooling yourself into thinking I'm anybody else, because you'll be very sorrily mistaken and even more disappointed." Karkat chucked the soap away from him so it landed with a sploosh! in the bath a few yards away.

"Mmm."

"What, got a problem with that?" Karkat retorted.

John whipped his head back and forth in blatant rejection. "No, no, not that! I just. I kind of want to just hug you, if that's alright." The troll gave him a look too similar to that he would give to a sideshow freak. "What? Haven't you been hugged?"

"Does the pressure of a client pushing me down onto the bed with his whole body while he jams his dick into my nook count as a hug?" John looked like he was about to cry. "Okay, okay, fuck, hug me." Just as the second "okay" graced his lips, the blue-eyed man surged forward and grasped Karkat in a tight hug. He buried his wet hair into the troll's neck that smelled musty and felt clammy, he hooked his arms under his armpits and clutched onto him. 

"I just want to… take you away from all that. Protect you," John muttered.

"Well you're doing a mighty fine job by bringing me here where if your "Mama" sees me, I could get culled."

"She won't. I promise. You'll just be for…," he paused, squirmed, "me. And if any of my siblings see you, well, they won't rat us out, I don't think. I sure hope not." He hugged the troll a little tighter. "I couldn't leave you there. Still don't know why." Karkat rolled his eyes.

"Didn't I tell you I'd stick around until you figured out what the fuck you want to do to my whore ass?"

"Not "to." With. And not just your a—aaaa—ahh." Karkat had to let out a snort.

"Say it. You know you want to."

"Aaaaaaa…"

"Say it, shittard."

"Aaaa… aaassssss… ass. Ass. Ass ass ass ass." John began to giggle as the word rolled off his tongue. "Wow, I feel weird. Ass. Pfff. Hehehe, it's kind of a funny word, ass." Goddammit. _He was cute_.

"Either way, you were saying something about not doing stuff just to my ass."

"With! As fascinating as a day with solely your… ass, sounds like, I'd like to spend more time with the parts that are vertically above the ass."

"So my bulge."

A blush stained the man's cheeks. "No! Gosh. Further, you silly… goof!" John's struggle led Karkat to start chuckling, a feeling that was vastly foreign to him. It felt nice. John was a _cornball_.

"So more like… this." At that moment, Karkat nudged himself away from the other man just enough to give him room to lean forward and plant a kiss on his pink lips. John let out a small squeak of surprise and flinched, but a grey arm around his waist kept him in place. His arms were in the air, unsure of where to go; Karkat gently placed them around his own waist and pressed into John, moving through the water until he was up against the wall of the bath. 

 

The troll forced John's lips to open and his tongue darted out to feel the inside of the man's mouth. He tasted as sickeningly sweet as the rest of the house smelled like: cake, frosting, maraschino cherries, chocolate. He wasn't sure whether it was particularly enticing, but when a soft tongue lapped his with utmost hesitance, he lost his train of thought and focused on the naked Crocker he had under his grip. He wasn't awful, for such a guy who seemed so puritanical. It would most certainly be Karkat's great pleasure to be the one to melt his chastity away. He jumped a bit when John let out a helpless moan, but took delight in it as he ground his bare crotch against John's (now hard) one. 

 

"Ah, Karkat!" John clenched and squirmed. "Wait, wait!" Karkat had begun to grope his butt under the water.

"Wait?" he questioned. John nodded.

"Wait, uh, I'm a little uncomfortable right now…" He trailed off; his face reddened.

"Well then, don't worry, hon. I'll get you nice and comfortable." Suddenly, Karkat gripped John's butt and lifted him up out of the water, only to place his naked body on the floor of the bathroom just at his eye level, in the same position as he was before.

"Ah-ah! It's cold!" John shivered and rubbed his arms. "What are you…" Karkat smirked once more, and subtly tilted his head towards John's erect penis. "Wait, wait wait wait wait, please, stop!" Just as he opened his mouth around the blue-eyed man's cock, Karkat froze. "Not. Not now." Karkat retreated a bit and looked up at John. This was new. Too new.

"Not… now?" he asked, his voice a rough mutter.

"N-no," John mumbled. "I mean… wowie, this is all really new to me, and I… well, Mama wouldn't like it if I ended up doing something stupid. "Stupid hoes be gettin' culled," she says." Karkat didn't know whether to snort or become terrified of what else the Batterbitch has told John during his lifetime. "Please don't be hurt, I… uh."

"No, yeah, I get it." Karkat floated a few inches away from the Crocker. "Uh, sorry."

"No, don't be!" John lifted himself into the bath again and sighed in relaxation. "It's not that I… 'm not at least _in_ terested, it's just kind of… weird."

"Weird? Like?"

"Just, weird! Strange, not something I'm really used to."

"Hm. You and me both." John let that sit in the humid air for a while, not saying a word as he settled himself into the lurid water. "So, what, are you just going to abandon your boner? Does that not hurt you like a shitbitch?"

"Well, um, I usually just leave it and it goes away, mm." John covered his mouth with a clenched fist. Karkat cocked his head and drew closer to him. He got up in his face with a curious glare, his lips slightly parted again.

"Are you serious?" he asked. "You've never jerked yourself off, not once." Uncomfortable silence. A smug smile. "Dirty fucker." John blushed. "If I can't suck you off, can I jerk you off instead? That okay for the little mama's boy?"

"I'm not a mama's boy," came a weak protest through pursed lips. Karkat leaned up to his ear and swiped his tongue along the lobe.

"Prove it to me, then," he whispered. John shut his eyes tight and his throat closed out of embarrassment. Not able to speak once more, the naked man merely nodded and mouthed "Go for it." Without a moment's delay, the troll's hand snaked down John's hips under the water, scraping a claw against his freckled skin just enough to make an impression. He circled the base of John's cock with his pinky finger and kept his eyes locked onto the man's face; he wanted to see each and every last gasp, shudder, and plea that he had to offer. And gasp John did. He gnawed at his own pink lips when Karkat stroked the underside of his dick with a thumb, his wrinkled toes curled when Karkat rolled the skin between his fingers, he panted heavily when Karkat stopped teasing and began to pump him with a pleasure he'd never experienced before. The troll pressed the slit of the man's cock down so teasingly, the man let out a shaky groan before biting down on his fist again. He was going to have permanent indents in his hands if he kept that up.

 

Karkat worked up to a steady pace, gripping John's penis with one hand and his shoulder with another. John had finally gathered the nerve to touch Karkat of his own accord by way of a single hand digging into the troll's scalp and tugging at his hair with every thrust his hips shuddered out. The hot water splashed up against his chest and beaded up around his nipples; Karkat took this opportunity to lean in and swipe his tongue across the tender buds, and a gasp of surprise followed by a loud moan sounded in the huge marble room. Karkat thought for a moment if he should worry if someone was going to hear, but the idea dashed out of his mind when he looked up from John's arching back to spy on his bright red, sweaty, scrunched-up face. He grinned to himself, upped his pace. "Are you almost there, sugar?"

"Wh—wh—" John tried to speak in between strokes, "—wh-where exactly?" Karkat gave an extra jerk as John struggled to answer him, bringing out such helpless moans that he could barely restrain himself from dunking his own head underwater and sucking the man to completion. "K—kuh!" _Say it. Say my name._ The troll pressed his forehead against John's shoulder as he jerked his cock at such a fast rate his arm was starting to cramp. "Kar—kat! Karkat, oh god! Karkat, Karkat, Karkat, _god_!" The blue-eyed man continued to half-whisper, half-shout Karkat's name as his entire body tensed and shook, and when his hot semen leaked out, the troll leaned in and kissed John with a gentleness that came from who-knows-where. He certainly had never kissed any client as much as he was kissing John that night.

 

As John slumped against the wall of the bath and basked in his euphoria, Karkat climbed out and slipped into a white bathrobe hanging on the wall. It was even more fluffy than the bed. The troll picked up his clothes, slung them over his shoulder, and stopped at the door. "See you in bed, honey bun." He felt for a moment like going back over to the dazed man and kissing him again: not out of lust, a chaste peck on the lips that would ease him into sentience and make him turn red under those freckles of his. Karkat frowned, and muttered "client" to himself as he walked back to John's room and settled into his bed for the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the rating lives up to its content *cackles*  
> Much thanks for reading! .u.


	3. Chapter 3

John peeled Karkat's clinging arms from around his waist and chuckled to himself in a nervous way as he quietly got out of bed. The troll was warm, like a radiator under his covers. John hoped he wasn't running a fever. To be sure, he leaned over Karkat's slumbering body and kissed his forehead. He seemed to be alright, John thought. John stepped over to his wall of shelves and drawers and rid himself of his sweaty pajamas. He donned a crisp white shirt tucked into his red slacks, a pair of red suspenders and a red bow tie with a white three-pronged symbol embroidered in the corner. Maybe he would make some breakfast, seeing that he was up earlier than Jane.

 

John shut the kitchen door behind him and turned on the warm lights, smelling the familiar sweet baked goods and candy. He heaved a bit from the scent's unusual strength; oddly enough, he found himself missing Karkat's smell of sweat and dampness that hooked onto his senses last night. John played the scenes over in his mind as he turned on the oven and grabbed some ingredients from the refrigerator. Karkat's lean and muscular body, his glowing red eyes and plump lips, the way he whispered into John's ear and made thrills tremble down his back, the feeling of disobedience and rebellion that… what was the phrase that Jake used? Turned him on? John giggled at the phrase. What was he, a radio or something?

 

While thinking of it, John held the mixing bowl in the crook of his elbow as he edged over to the tabletop radio and tapped a button on the top; [an old tune hummed out of the speakers](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agUl2xmrBuA), a song he instantly recognized to the point where he started to whistle along with it as he whisked. Biscuits and eggs should do, he thought. There was some raspberry jam in the fridge.

 

Just as he slapped the dough onto a cutting board to knead it, the door behind him opened and closed. "Why is it always so fucking hot in here? If you covered me in breadcrumbs and left me to stew here I'd turn into a caramelized treat to be sold to wigglers at the local carnival, goddammit," a voice rasped. John looked over his shoulder to see Karkat, standing in a mere pair of black boxers and scratching his claws through his shaggy hair. He grinned.

"Um, I think just because Mama likes it that way. She never told me why, actually." The troll raised an eyebrow at him.

"And you just… accept that and move on?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" He had no reason to mistrust his Mama. Karkat was being silly. He scratched the back of his neck, forgetting that he had floury dough on his hands. But before he could reach for a towel, Karkat was behind him and lapping up the substance with his agile tongue. "O-Oh, wow…" The troll hummed triumphantly to himself and wrapped his arms around John's waist. "Dude! I'm trying to, uh, knead some dough over here."

"Dude?" Karkat asked firstly.

"You asked me to be less formal, so." He felt Karkat chuckle against his back.

"Fair enough. What're you making, doucheass?" 

"Biscuits. And eggs, later." The troll watched his hands squeeze and roll the dough from over his shoulder. His hair tickled John's neck, making him giggle.

"You're killing me with your hands, you infuriating pustule." John cocked his head towards him. "I swear to fucking god, am I jealous of that dough right now."

"Why do you keep doing that?" the blue-eyed man suddenly asked, removing his hands from the cutting board.

"Doing what?"

"One moment you're insulting, sarcastic, and blunt, and the next you're really flirtatious, and the next you're a really weird mixture of both!" He shrugged Karkat off his shoulders and turned around to face him. "Which one is you?"

"The fuck are you talking about? All of them are me."

"Yeah, but," John moved forward and placed a hand each on Karkat's shoulder and waist, "which one is telling me the truth about you?" The troll made a face that showed no signs of having a clue. "Hehe. I guess I'll have to find out for myself."

Shaking his head, Karkat sighed. "For an idiot, you're pretty flirtatious yourself on occasion." 

"Oh, I am? Sorry, it just kinda… slips out, hahaha." He casually began swinging himself and Karkat back and forth to the beat emitted by the little radio. The troll seemed to have gotten the memo and had both his arms around John's neck.

"Quit apologizing so much, it's incredibly unsexy. Just be your own goddamn self, that's enough to more than satisfy me."

"I could say the same to you, Mr. Vantas," John chuckled. "Ever dance before?" Karkat rolled his eyes.

"What the fuck do you think, dumbshit." In near perfect synchronization, the two stepped forward and backward, turning around each other in their dance. John twirled Karkat, Karkat twirled John; they held onto each other as they stretched apart, then contracted, with the troll curling into the man's arms. John held his waist with both hands, swinging side to side again and (hesitantly) nuzzling his neck. Just as he was about to lean in for a kiss, having built up the courage to do so, Karkat twirled out of his arms once more with a teasing smirk on his face. With an equally teasing smirk, John stepped up and entwined his fingers with Karkat's, resuming their swing and getting close once more. The troll stared at John as they danced, his smirk fading and transforming into a smile of genuine enjoyment. Lucky for him, the blue-eyed man failed to notice the difference. But it was there.

 

John removed one of his hands and replaced it on Karkat's back, and the next thing he knew he was dipping the surprised troll and touching noses with him. He did not falter, though: when the two of them straightened up once more, he went straight for another twirl that would lead Karkat back into his chest. There, the Crocker hugged his bare waist from behind and swayed, softly singing the melody in a lower octave. As the song trilled and finally came to a close, Karkat stretched his neck and planted a gentle kiss on John's parted lips. The kiss was received with more enthusiasm than the previous night, a surprise to both of the two. John tightened his hold on the heated troll in his arms, curving into his lips and hardly giving mind to the sharper teeth in his wet mouth. They slowly stepped towards the counter, and Karkat braced himself with an elbow as John continued to kiss him deeply and press against him in the most insistent way. The troll ran a hand through his wavy hair; John brushed his cheek and felt his heart beat in sync with the one in his chest. It was only when the oven beeped to signal that it had reached the preset temperature, that John and Karkat broke apart panting and sweaty.

 

The troll caught his breath against the counter as John hurried over to his abandoned dough to quickly chop it up and mold it into balls. No sooner did he slip them into the oven and set the timer, was Karkat on him again, grinding against his ass and biting his neck in the most arousing way. But this time, John separated himself from the troll, turned around to face him again. He tugged at his collar that seemed to have tightened during their make-out session. "Uh…," he mumbled. "It's really hot in here, isn't it?"

Karkat nodded, still breathless. "Yeah, that's what I said before." They stood and looked at each other in silence for a minute.

"Could you put on a shirt at least?"

"Fuck no. Too hot for shirts."

"You or the room?" John chuckled teasingly, a slight blush rising on his face at his own words that surprised him. The chuckle stopped in his throat with Karkat was up against him once more, red eyes piercing through his glasses.

"So you admit I'm hot," he purred. The troll drew circles on John's shoulder with a finger.

"There's the sudden switch again," the other man commented, trying to change the subject. "I got the feeling before that you weren't too satisfied with yourself, physically or socially."

"Excuse me?" Karkat stepped away from John with a slight shove to the shoulder. "Who are you to start psychoanalyzing me, you pretentious nooklump?"

"Hey, I'm just noticing these things." John crossed his arms, defensive. "It's not I who said that I was a worthless piece of shhh—shiiii—tuh. Or a sorry excuse of a pathetic existence. Something along those lines." He sent a look towards Karkat that screamed of pity. "So I ask again: which Karkat isn't lying to me?"

"Tch." A rare flush. "I guess that's for you to find out, assjunkie."

"A challenge, then." John grinned. "Jake would like something like that."

 

As if speaking of the devil, a man considerably tanner than John and of dark green eyes traipsed into the kitchen wearing a mere white tank top and pair of red shorts that were really too short for his figure. He scratched his crotch and yawned out, "'Morning, Johnny boy. Are those biscuits baking I smell?" Karkat and John froze in their places as the man blinked, focused his vision on the two. "Now who's this fine naked fellow I see in our kitchen?" John couldn't speak. His fear stuffed up his throat with the texture of a sock. "Cat got your tongue, you two?" He walked up to the troll and his younger brother, stared at them for a moment, then laughed loudly and patted their shoulders with his strong hands. "Hahaha! Oh dear, you think I'd rat you two out like a couple of dogs? No way, your shenanigans are safe with me." He leaned into Karkat's ear and muttered, "And if you ask me, little John needs a little experience of his own. Can't rely on me all the time."

"Jake!" John suddenly interjected with a smack on his older brother's back. "Will you _please_ shut up!?"

"So he speaks!" Jake exclaimed. "Glad to have you back, John. How long until brekky?"

"Like, 20 minutes with the eggs!" He continued hitting Jake, warding him away from the oven that smelled buttery with the cooking biscuits. "And… will you please get into some actual clothes? We have a photo shoot today."

"Oh, do we?" The green-eyed man yawned. "Must've forgotten. Eh, I'll get into my fancy duds after I've made a mess of myself attempting to eat my morning meal."

"Photo shoot?" Karkat choked out after his stunned silence. Jake turned towards him, his grin widening.

"Why, yes! I'll assume you've seen the many billboards posted around the city." He jabbed a thumb towards himself, then John. "Our dear old mother has the strongest tendency to use us as her little poster lads. Sweet Janey is her pin-up babe as well. But I suppose you knew that already, haha!" Suddenly, he gasped and held out a hand to the troll. "Blimey, I've forgotten my damn manners. Jake Crocker, oldest son of the Crocker family. How do you do?" Karkat raised an eyebrow, but took his hand and shook it.

"Karkat Vantas, full-time whore and part-time stripper. I'm doing fucking fantastically."

"What a riot! John, I'm glad you snagged a paramour with a good sense of humor." He ruffled Karkat's hair, earning an irritated growl. "And a nice bod to boot. How'd you come into my little bro's life?" The troll looked at John, who was covering his face, then back to Jake. A smirk.

"He came into my dressing room and begged me to suck his cock."

" _Karkat!_ " 

"Hahahahaha! Oh my _lord_ , heeheehee!" Jake clutched his stomach, doubling over from his hearty laughter. "Oh dear god, I'm crying! Super! What a guy!" He held onto Karkat's shoulder to help himself straighten up. "My sincere approval of you, Karkat. Feel free to engage in sexual relations with my brother whenever you please."

"Oh my _god_ ," John whined as he sank to the floor.

"Thanks for the reassurance." He let out a chuckle. "Hmhmhm." By pure impulse, he walked over to John and held out a hand. "Come on, get up, jackass." The blue-eyed man, with a face redder than his bow tie, bit his lip and peeked at the troll who towered above him. Though his features were rough and sharp, the expression he took on was soft and, perhaps, caring. Was that a lie, too?

"Thanks." John took his hand and stood. "Now, uh, if _Jake_ could get out of my way, I'll start on the eggs." Jake pouted like a child, but made his way to the kitchen table and sat down obediently. "You wanna help, Karkat?" The troll considered the notion. He shrugged. 

"I'm a shitty cook, due to the fact that I have barely ever cooked anything with something other than a microwave."

"Great! Then I can teach you."

"That wasn't a yes, nookshit." John immediately looked disappointed.

"Oh." Karkat grimaced, fidgeting around with his own emotions.

"Look, I'm not in the mood to start learning shit that will have no use to me any time in the future, at least not right this second. I'm fucking tired." He rubbed his temples for emphasis. "I'm going back to your room to nap, come get me when breakfast is ready." John mimicked the pout that his older brother put on not a moment ago, but nodded nonetheless.

"Alright…," he mumbled. "As soon as it's ready."

"Yeah, yeah. I still wanna eat, you writhing pile of trash. Just exhausted." John nodded again, this time more bright. He suddenly gave Karkat a peck on the lips; he blushed immediately after. A grin cracked on Karkat's face. "Hmhm. If you want more you'll have to follow me."

"But… breakfast!" John grabbed the whisk from the counter and brandished it. "Eggs!" Pffft. _Dork_.

"Have fun with that." With a wink and a wave to Jake, Karkat was out of the kitchen and on his way back to John's bedroom.

 

He hardly had the intention to nap, though, when the mention of photos popped up in his head. He had most certainly seen some of those advertisements, some of which were raunchy to say the least. In all the fuss he went through when dealing with the ditz, Karkat's mind failed to make the solid connection between John Crocker and the seductive man featured on the lit-up billboards towering over the streets. He may be a virgin, but Karkat'd be damned if her Imperious Cuntdeshitsion didn't sell his sex for all it was worth. And he wasn't just going to let that slide without getting some of those photos for himself. Could sell them for a load of cash if John decided to kick him out.

 

_When_ , he mentally corrected. When John decided to kick him out. They were going to fuck eventually, and after that John will get out of bed and start getting dressed and chuck a wad of boonies onto his cum-streaked chest and tell him he had five minutes to get the fuck out before he culled him. Because he was a client, that was all he was. And Karkat was just his little rented whore, that was all he was.

 

Karkat headed towards John's wall of shelves and drawers, picked one at random and searched through it for any signs of a portfolio. No, that was filled with clothes… underwear, cookbooks, an entire fucking drawer filled with spare glasses (not once did it occur to Karkat that this was an immense invasion of John's privacy), a shelf lined with a bunch of folders, another shelf holding more cookbooks, yet another drawer containing—wait. The troll looked back at the shelf with the folders, and sidled back to it with suspicious curiosity. He thumbed through each of the folder's contents, looking at various unimportant documents with disinterest and increased frustration. But halfway through, upon plucking up an innocuous black file with quite some heft to it, he uncovered his treasure. With little abandon, Karkat lay on the bed, resting on his stomach, as he opened the portfolio with a single finger.

 

The first image that greeted Karkat was a simple picture of John leaning over a kitchen counter, fully clothed in his signature bow tie and suspenders. An advertisement for culinary goods, he guessed. Boring. He tossed the picture aside and lifted another one from the folder. Fully clothed, sitting in a chair, furniture advertisement. Eh. Next one: a short-sleeved shirt instead of his normal dress shirt now, but otherwise still respectably dressed while grinning and stretching his shoulders for a sports apparel ad. Nothing special. He looked a little younger in that one. Where are the more recent ones? Karkat continued to flip through the photographs, spreading them out on the bedsheets as the folder became more and more empty. Some of them were pretty cute, he had to admit: the troll found himself blushing from seeing a particularly goofy picture of John eating an ice cream cone. But nothing surprised him, he vaguely remembered all the images from the posters he grew up staring at.

 

Nothing surprised him, until John's formal dress shirt disappeared to reveal his bare chest, only hidden by his red suspenders, in the next photograph Karkat revealed. He delicately dragged a fingertip along the image of John's body, curved towards the camera while his face took on a smirk. Now things were getting interesting. The troll eagerly flipped to the next photograph that featured the man, with blue eyes made more stark by the lighting, stretching his suspenders with his thumbs and staring into the camera. The next, John looking over his shoulder in white shorts that hardly covered anything past his ass. Lord, his ass. Damn the Condesce for knowing how to show it off. He stared, stared, and stared, until he realized what he was doing and put the photo aside. Doing so revealed a close-up of John, who bit on the tips of his fingers and ran his other hand through his hair. Karkat noted exactly why he didn't make the connection at first: there was no resemblance in personality between the John Crocker he met and the tempting figure on the pages before him. They were two different people in the same body.

 

Now, who wasn't lying to him? More importantly, how could he bring out that person in the photographs that attracted him so? Karkat frowned to himself. Who said that one had to be lying to him?

 

He disregarded the entire notion as he shuffled through the few remaining pictures, each of them sexier and featuring a more nude John than the next. The final one in the folder, Karkat found, was the image of the gorgeous Crocker from the side, with his hands folded behind his head, only red suspenders attached to white underwear to cover him, and a red ice pop between his teeth. How the sweet juice trickled so slightly from the corner of his mouth and dropped onto his bare chest, how his black hair was mussed up so perfectly, how his blue eyes stood out and stared straight back at the red-faced troll. This was one photo he swore he'd never seen. He'd have liked to believe it was for him. All of a sudden, Karkat puffed out his lips just a bit and moved the picture closer to his face; he kissed the glossy paper as if the man printed on it were real, tangible, in the room at that moment.

 

As a matter of fact, the man happened to be in the room at that moment. Not only that, but he had been in the room for quite some time, stunned into silence upon seeing the troll stretched out on his bed, looking at photos of himself and now kissing one, _oh gosh_ … "Um." Karkat jerked away from the photo so violently that he almost ripped it in half, and ended up falling onto the floor in a spectacular heap. John Crocker wondered if that counted enough of a prank for him to snicker. Wait, who was he kidding? Of course it counted. "Um, breakfast is… ready."

"Great. Thanks," Karkat answered, his voice curt and clipped. "See you there."

"Yep. See you." John shut the door, and as he began to burst into peals of embarrassed laughter, Karkat shouted the most disgusting of expletives at the top of his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chuckles* Happy April, everybody


	4. Chapter 4

With reluctance, John gave Karkat permission to head back into the city while he was doing his photo shoot, given that he come back within a reasonable amount of time and exited and entered the Crocker house from the balcony outside John's bedroom. Karkat was about to make a remark about how John sounded like a master giving orders to his pet, but surmised that would not be a very good thing to say to someone who could cull him at whim. Although, Karkat found himself thinking less and less about John being dangerous, and more about… well, that he couldn't specify with words. As he pulled on his red coat and pointy heels, John looked on with evident anxiety. "I'm not going to run away, you know," he unintentionally snapped, making John flinch. "Look, I'll leave the rest of my measly possessions here, okay? And," he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the chain and pendant he wore in the club that night that seemed ages ago, "this, too. It's sort of an important thing to me, I guess? So don't lose it or drop it into one of your bowls of cake batter." He handed it off to the blue-eyed man, who closed his fingers around it and examined the silver necklace. "Okay? I… yeah." The troll kissed him, cupped his cheek for a short moment as their faces heated up. What was he thinking? "I'll see you later."

"Yup," John mumbled, embarrassed. "Goodbye, Karkat."

"Bye, shit-for-brains." With a smirk and a wave, Karkat pulled open the glass doors and made his way onto the balcony, and from there his descent to the ground. He was lucky that his claws weren't too filed down that he couldn't clutch onto the limestone bricks as he climbed down. Once on firm ground again, he looked up to see John leaning over the balcony wall and watching him. He could've smiled; he held it back and blew a nonchalant kiss towards the Crocker. To his surprise, though, the man on the balcony blew one back.

 

It was a long walk back to the neighborhood, but Karkat discovered that he really didn't mind all that much. A sense of being afloat warmed his heart and made him appreciate the familiar, cool stench of alcohol, cigarette smoke and sex. He made a quick decision to head to his house first, just to make sure that his uncle hadn't noticed he was gone in the first place. As entirely expected, the living room was left the exact same way as Karkat left it: the sodden couch squished into his shape, ratty blanket crumpled from where he got out of it just yesterday morning, radio still turned off. What did he expect? It had only been a day, anyway. Even if it felt like it had been an eternity since yesterday.

 

The next stop he made was the bar he frequented, barren save for a few unconscious men collapsed on the floor or leaning on the wooden tables. Zahhak was mopping the stage, grumbling to himself as he delicately did his work. "Zahhak." The bartender turned around to see Karkat waving at him.

"Oh. Good morning."

"'Morning. How's shit been holding up?"

"Adequately. I've been making good use of the money that gentleman gave me and managed to go out for dinner with a woman I met by the name of Megido."

"Fascinating."

"Speaking of such," Zahhak fidgeted, dabbed at his slick forehead, "how did it go with him?" Karkat was surprised to find a smile creep onto his face. He immediately turned it into a cocky smirk.

"You mean still going? I've already given him a handjob. Undoubtedly he's going to get down to business soon enough. And I'll get paid loads for it, too."

"Present tense? Do you mean to say you are still with him?"

"Yeah, staying at his house. No big deal, 's long as I get what I deserve in the end. Got no place to be, either way." Karkat felt a stab in his heart with every word he said. He should probably stop talking. "That's about it. Got enough time to get me a drink?"

"None left," Zahhak replied, solemn. "We ran out early this morning. Hence why only the lewd and lazy continue to take up space in my establishment with no intention to pay for the air they breathe." Karkat frowned.

"Sorry to hear that."

"It's quite alright. I expected the barrel to run dry within a few days of today, either way." He returned to his mopping, which told Karkat that he'd best be on his way. He exited the gloomy building and crossed the street to his final stop for the day before heading back to the Crocker hive. Karkat slipped into the building marked by the name "Strider's" and dodged past the greeting ladies upon them recognizing his face. He headed back to his old dressing room and collapsed into his familiar cushy chair. The troll considered if there was anything in the room he ought to take with him: he looked around, at the TV on the coffee table, at the racks of clothes provided by the club for his use, at the crushed soda cans and at the scattered condoms and half-empty bottles of lubricant that had accumulated on the floor of the room. Never once did it cross his mind to clean it. Just as he got up again to rummage through his dresser, a blonde man appeared in his doorway. The younger brother. "Strider," Karkat grumbled.

"Vantas," Strider replied. "You're back."

"Don't get too excited over me, shitdick, I'm just back to grab some things and then I'm back to the Crocker hive."

"He let you go?" The man stepped into Karkat's room without an invitation. "You're going back?"

"Well, to put it in a retarded wiggler's terms." Strider shrugged his shoulders and coughed.

"The things you'll do for a bit of cash, Karkit. You'd suck the Condesce's nook if she offered you money for it. Hell, you'd suck on a lollipop stuck to the floor of our bar, covered in pubes and spilled beer and shit, if a guy paid you enough to do it." Karkat pursed his lips in disgust.

"It may be hard to believe for an idiot such as yourself, but I do have standards." Karkat smirked. "Or maybe you just can't believe it since you're too egotistical to accept that you're below mine."

"Aw, burn," Strider mockingly whined. "I'm hurt, Kittykit. I'm hurt so bad that I might need a drive to a hospital. Get some of that morphine shot into my system and whatnot. Get a hot nurse to tend to all my whims, fuck yes, male nurse with nubby horns and red blood wearing a too-short skirt, coming up to me with a tray of shitty hospital food—except for the pudding, the pudding's pretty swell—and putting the tray off to the side and kissing my forehead to check my temperature, and I say nurse, you can't do that, that's not ethical, and the nurse says to hell with ethics, let's fuck alrea—Karkat?" During his nonsensical speech, Karkat had tried to slip past the blonde man with a paper bag filled with several articles of clothing; unfortunately for him, he was stopped with a hand to the chest. "In a hurry or something?"

"I'm glad you noticed something other than yourself, congratulations," Karkat responded. "Now that you have done so, I kindly ask that you take your hand off my goddamn chest and let me go."

"Hmmm." Strider looked down at him through his mirrored shades, mouth twisted in contemplation. "Only if you gimme a kiss." Karkat rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, whatever. Go suck on your Crocker cock and don't get culled, you're still our most popular performer despite me being at least ten times better than you."

With a scoff, Karkat laughed. "Funny. I'll be back or not, it's my choice either way. See you, bulgeitch."

"And bring back those fucking clothes, god damn. Don't stain them either, keep 'em show-ready."

"I'll make sure to come all over them, then. I will surely go out of my way to scramble out of bed to where they were tossed to the side and release my genetic material all over their previously show-ready quality. Maybe I'll shit on them too, just for good measure."

"Might as well add some piss into the mix, if you're gonna go that far." The blonde man waved him out. "Get the fuck out of here, dumbass."

"Gladly," Karkat chuckled, as he wound his way out of the hallway and back outside to begin his journey back to the Crocker hive.

 

Halfway through his walk back, Karkat stopped at the top of the same hill he and John stopped at the night before, and leaned against a wall to catch his breath and look at the palace peeking out from behind the skyscrapers. It was already two-thirty, he discovered upon catching sight of a clock inside a building's lobby. He took the time to sink into his thoughts, to sort them and to wonder about them. It was only when a shadow appeared in front of his face that he came back to his senses. A man, hardly taller and hardly older than Karkat, stood in front of him. "Hey, Vantas," the guy said in a rough, quiet voice. "I hear you're a good fuck." Before Karkat could say anything, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. "Three hundred boonies. Six hours. Hotel. Got it?" Karkat stared at the cash with a blank expression, then back up at the man with a similarly blank expression. John was his current… client. He was his client. John, client. Client, John. It's not like it was below Karkat to take on more than one client at once. They were just clients, after all. Three _hundred_ boonies. The offer tugged and tempted Karkat to say yes.

But… John trusted him to be back at a reasonable time. Nine o'clock barely counted as "reasonable." Like hell Karkat would break that trust.

"Fuck off, I'm already spoken for," he replied, hostile. "Come back when I'm not preoccupied with someone far more important than your own grimy-handed self."

"Excuse me?" The man looked at him with incredulity. "The fuck did you just say to me? _No?_ "

"To be more specific, I said "fuck off," but whatever gets the point across." All of a sudden, the man shoved Karkat against the wall, pinned him by the shoulders, and bared his gritted teeth at the troll. 

"Now you listen to me, you filthy little slut," he snarled, "you don't get to pick and choose what guys you fuck and what guys you don't. You're the whore looking for cash. I got cash. What's the problem here?" Karkat's eyes widened as his lips curled back to show his teeth that were much sharper than the human ones the man in front of him had. His eyebrows twisted downward, cutting wrinkles into his features. 

"No, _you_ listen to _me,_ you grubfisted shitcreaming _dinglefuck_ ," he shouted, jerking his knee up and hitting the offending man square in the crotch. As he crumpled to the ground with a high-pitched whine, Karkat continued. "I can do whatever the fuck I please, whenever the fuck I please, and I can choose who I fuck or who I don't without being forced to deal with worthless sacks of fuck like you giving me shit about it, since god only knows I've received such a massive amount of shit in my lifetime that I might as well be buried under it." He kicked his back with the pointy tip of his heel. "Go fuck yourself, or find someone more willing to fuck your sorry husk of what you call a body. Though I'm pretty sure if your best line is calling the person a filthy little slut, no one would want to fuck you anyway." As the troll stomped away, he yelled behind him, "I'm already spoken for, jackass. And so far it looks like it'll stay that way."

 

As Karkat started to climb back up the wall to John's balcony, he heard [a faint song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vosxBpknKw0) humming from an open window not far from the glass doors that led into his room. He clambered onto the balcony, and saw through the glass that John wasn't in his room. He must be the one playing. Karkat dashed inside, dropped off his bag of clothes, coat, and boots, leaving only a red tank top and black pair of sweatpants on his person. He quietly padded down the hallway, listening to the piano playing and trying to source it to one room. Upon coming to a grand door near the staircase, trimmed with red and gold swirls, Karkat turned the handle and went inside.

 

A wave of notes washed over him, their sound now much louder and clearer to Karkat's ears. John didn't notice him enter; his back was turned away from the door as he played the grand piano, colored an off-white, in the middle of the room. One of the gothic-styled windows that lined the far wall was indeed open, blowing in a slight breeze that disturbed the curtains and ruffled his hair. He was still in the outfit Karkat saw him in that morning, suspenders and all. Karkat leaned against the now closed door, watching the blue-eyed man play, watching his fingers dance over the ebony and ivory keys, watching from afar that look of concentration molded into his face. Karkat dared to draw nearer, but made sure to keep quiet enough so John wouldn't stop playing; he had to say, it was beautiful. He was… beautiful. Another breeze blew in that made him shiver. John seemed unfazed. There was room on the white piano bench for one more, Karkat saw. Like John had been waiting for him to come in and sit with him. Who was he to deny him that?

 

John barely flinched from the keyboard when Karkat's weight shifted the piano bench, let alone did he stop. He closed his eyes as he played, relying on his muscle memory to guide him through the song, and his heart to guide him through what was yet to come. Karkat, instead of purposefully trying to distract John with caresses and nibbles and sloppy, biting kisses, simply leaned on the Crocker's shoulder, closing his eyes as well and letting the music roll down his back. A smile formed on his lips, a foreign sensation that he thought to have been impossible for him to feel.

 

Karkat rubbed gentle circles on John's back, idly toyed with his suspenders and stretched them just a few centimeters off his shirt. He sat with patience that came only from his sheer enjoyment of the music that sent him purring ever so softly. He inwardly hoped that the buzzing in his chest wouldn't resonate within John's chest, but by the widening grin on his face he knew there was no chance of that happening. So he relaxed, perfecting the moment for himself and leaving John to his piano. If he wasn't careful, he would fall asleep right there.

 

The two sat in stillness, before John brushed his nose against Karkat's cheek and planted a ghost of a kiss upon his grey skin (it was a wonder to Karkat how he managed to keep playing). Karkat took this as an invitation, and began trailing his hand down to the other man's waistband and untucking his crisp shirt. He tickled his spine as his fingers walked up his back, he brought out a shiver as his cold hand traced around John's neck. John focused on the keys in front of him, eyes locked and refusing to look at Karkat. How cute. Karkat shifted closer, resting his chin on the blue-eyed man's shoulder, and let his other hand wander across his chest; he tugged at his bow tie and teased the collar of his shirt open. John finished his song with a tremble, one hint of a slip-up that screamed to Karkat how he was feeling. Immediately, he turned to the troll and managed a shaky smile. "Do you like it?"

"…I do," Karkat replied, rubbing John's collar between his thumb and forefinger. "I also like _you_ , if you had failed to notice." Another pink blush through skin as pale as the white piano keys.

"I… like you too. A lot." Oh. He meant… _that_ way. Before Karkat could say another word more, John cupped the back of his head and ghosted another kiss over his lips. With ease, Karkat pulled John forward and closed the distance between their mouths, faces heated and bodies shaking, if for different reasons. As their tongues danced around each other, Karkat's strong and self-assured and John's nervous and hesitant, the former reached to straddle the latter's lap and pressed his body against him. Only this time, John pressed back.

"John." Karkat panted upon breaking away from John's sweet-tasting lips. "Are you. Ready?" As soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth, Karkat asked himself why he cared. That's what he was there for, wasn't it?

"I." John licked his lips, looked off to the side. "Mama also says that if it feels right, just do it and don't care about the consequences." He fixed his clear aqua stare back onto the troll in his lap. "Because in the end, humans are still "short-lived mortals who ain't got any shit better to do," she says."

Karkat sighed. "I hardly think that applies to this situation, seeing that your "Mama" wouldn't want to see her precious baby fraternizing with some piece of trash you picked up off the street." John paused, his hands clenched against Karkat's back.

"You're not trash," he mumbled, "you're Karkat. You're… the complete opposite of trash."

"Can't imagine where you got that idea."

"I'll tell you later, now, um, let's go." Karkat raised an eyebrow, smirked as he nosed John's chin and gazed at him with his fiery eyes.

"Go where?" he purred.

"Go… to, my bedroom, I guess?" The Crocker's face reddened. He scratched the back of his neck.

"To do what?"

"To… I don't know!"

"What don't you know?" Now _this_ was entertaining.

"How to say it!"

"How to say _what?_ "

"Hrrrrgh!" John's face scrunched up, his eyelids shut tight and his mouth pulled back into a tight and uncomfortable line. "Why are you making me say it?" Karkat chuckled.

"Making you say what?"

"Making me say thatIwanttomakelovewithyou!" _Make love._ Not fuck. Not bang. Not have sex with. Not even to. Make love _with_.

"Because," the troll whispered, satisfied, "it's hot."

"Oh, well that's a damn good reason."

"Is that sarcasm I hear? Is the little mama's boy finally getting around to becoming a man?" Karkat teased. John frowned.

"I already proved to you that I'm not a mama's boy," he whined.

"Then prove it again, bulgecrunch." Their lips met again, insistent and rabid and hungry. The two stood, toppling over the piano bench but hardly noticing as they kissed their way out into the hallway. On the way to John's bedroom, Karkat ended up pushing him against a wall and grinding his knee between the man's legs, making him mewl like a cat. By the time the two collapsed onto John's soft bed, Karkat had discarded his shirt and was working hard to rid John of his. He bit his bow tie off with his teeth, spat it out onto the floor; John unhooked the suspenders from his pants and chucked those away as well. With the troll's back against the bedcovers, the blue-eyed man's body hovering over him, they devoured each other's mouths as Karkat shimmied his white dress shirt off his pale shoulders. A thin silver chain dangled from his neck—the same chain that was given to him that morning. "You… wore it."

"I thought that was the best place for it—!" Karkat moved upward to lap at John's jaw, coaxing more moans from his throat and making him shiver with pleasure. They rolled over; Karkat leaned his forearms on John's shoulders and made himself a nice spot to bite, lick, and tease the man's ear. Every groan made Karkat's bulge squirm in his pants, every gasp made him start and sent his heart pounding in his head.

 

John's long fingers found their way to Karkat's bare chest, and from what he knew of himself, he tweaked the dark grey buds that made the troll whine. He repeated the motion; another whine that shot fire into his aching crotch. Karkat's tongue, rough and longer than a human's, left a warm trail of spit as it traveled south, lapping at John's collarbone. He tugged the chain between his lips while making sure to look John straight in the eyes, and used it to lead him down further to circle his nipples. Karkat's teeth joined his tongue in efforts to make John scream and beg, to make him pant and gasp Karkat's name over and over again. He was getting there: his breath was heavy, strained, his body grew flushed, his moans becoming less and less contained. The Crocker's hands twisted into Karkat's black hair, growing tighter as his pants began to tent in an impossible-to-not-notice way. Karkat smirked at John upon seeing the bulge, and shifted himself further down to mouth it with his hot breath. John groaned, squirming.

The other man groaned back as he licked and kissed John's cock through his red pants, dampening them with his spit. With a questioning look, returned by a trembling nod, Karkat undid his belt and his zipper to free his aching boner. John gasped at the sensation of cool air. "John." He lifted his head to look at the troll at his groin to see him holding a silver packet. "Condom. Protection," he muttered, his voice husky. "Pays to be safe, if in your case disease is nigh fucking impossible to have beforehand." John gave him a choked thumbs-up before collapsing back onto the mattress. "Hold on." Karkat palmed his cock before pulling down his underwear, revealing it already leaking out its white sticky liquid. He tore open the packaging with his teeth, and slipped the condom over John's penis as he twitched and gasped upon feeling Karkat's light fingers on him. "Don't scream too loud," Karkat whispered, just as he went down on John and swallowed him whole.

 

John exclaimed, his hands clutching at the sheets, his toes curling and his knees buckling around Karkat's back. His dick pulsed as the troll sucked it, minding his teeth masterfully and wrapping his tongue around the very tip in a way that both locked John's throat and made him want to shout out. He bit into his fist in an attempt to stop himself from raising his voice to be too loud. God, did he hope no one else could hear. Karkat continued to deliciously pleasure him, his hands stroking the base while his mouth sucked on the upper half and teased the slit through the thin plastic of the condom. He whined, he mewled, he gasped for breath and he raked his filed-down nails across the white bedsheets, he let that one name squeak from his lips and encourage the owner of it. Then all of a sudden, the sparks that crackled throughout his nervous system faded away as Karkat lifted himself away from his cock. "Nnrgh," he cried in protest.

"Quit complaining, junkass, there's much more to feel than that." Karkat gave him a playful hit on the shoulder, kissed him deeply and let him know how delicious he tasted. "You'll have to trust me for this, John."

"W-Wait," the man panted, aiming his blue gaze up at Karkat. "You, too."

"Huh?" John nervously tugged at Karkat's waistband.

"You, too." He needn't say another word, no matter how surprised nor how odd Karkat felt about it. Never did he once act as the receiving end for a blowjob, especially not with a client. He wriggled out of his sweatpants and tossed them to the side, and leaned against the headboard of the bed as John kneeled in front of him. He was sweating. 

"Hey." Karkat cupped John's jaw and forced him to look him in the eye. "You don't have to. No goddamn condoms work on a writhing bulge."

"I… I trust you." John smiled. "This is probably going to suck a lot. Literally and figuratively, hehe." Karkat laughed.

"Then go for it, already, dickass." John nodded as he exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. He stretched Karkat's black boxers off his hips, uncovering his bright red bulge that squirmed and reached for something to cling onto. He anxiously opened his eyes and stared at the tentacle-like appendage before him. "John?" Without glancing near the troll's face, John ducked his head down and held the bulge in place with one hand. He gave it an experimental stroke: Karkat moaned in pleasure and clamped his hands down onto the hard headboard. Ever so reluctantly, John opened his mouth and licked the very tip. Karkat gasped aloud, his legs clenching. John licked his lips and dove back in, trailing his tongue around his bulge—like he would do to a popsicle, John thought. If the popsicle wriggled. And if the popsicle seller moaned erotically every time he licked it.

By surprise, Karkat's bulge curled around John's lips and urged to be taken in whole. Of course, not knowing what else to do, John obliged. At first he gagged upon taking the entire thing into his mouth, and almost spit it back out by reflex. But shutting his eyes tight and focusing on making Karkat feel what he felt, he persevered and sucked on the appendage in his mouth. A buzz came from Karkat's chest that John equated to one of pleasure. He continued to lap and lick and stroke; his teeth got in the way a few times, he coughed another few times, but Karkat easily ignored it in favor of immersing himself in how good it felt for _his_ bulge to be sucked on for once. He also had his eyes shut, he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and felt his face grow even hotter. "Okay, ok—" a gasp interrupted him, "—ay!" John jerked away, cheeks splattered with Karkat red genetic material. "God, you're a hot, filthy mess." From the lustful look Karkat took on, the Crocker guessed that was a good thing. "Okay, so, John."

"Yeah?" John panted.

"Do you want me to top?" John seemed confused. "Do you want my bulge, in your ass."

"Oh!" John fidgeted, in pain from his needy boner. "Um…"

"Alternatively, do you want your bulge in my ass, or my nook."

"Uh…" Karkat gazed at him, waiting patiently for his answer. "I don't really… know how…"

"No shit, dumbdumb. I'll teach you." The troll brushed a tender thumb across his jaw. "I just need to know that you want to learn."

"I—yeah. I do. Want to, learn." Karkat held back a grin whose origins were unknown to him.

"Alright then. So which one is it?" John bit his lip, quite possibly scorching the linens between his fingers due to him rubbing them so hard.

"Ah… the, first one." His voice was softer than the pillows Karkat leaned on.

"What was that?" Ooh, more fun. The troll pushed his face into John's vision and aimed at him an upward stare. "What do you want, John?" 

A nervous squeak. A stammered, "Stop doing that!"

"Doing what, groincatch?" Karkat's eyebrow twitched. "Tell me what you want. Go on, say it."

"Karkat…"

"Remember to say "please" and "thank you."" The blue-eyed man sucked his lips in. 

"P-Please, Karkat, put your… bulge… _there_ , oh my god this is really embarrassing." He clutched and covered his face with his hands. To his luck, Karkat took pity on him.

"Good enough, for now at least." He lifted John's hips, gave himself a lengthy stroke that coated his hands in his slick genetic material, and made John writhe in need just by making him watch. The troll slipped his hand underneath John's crotch, and blindly pressed a single finger to the outer part of his hole.

Whispering pants and whimpers, John leaned over Karkat and clung to the headboard helplessly. "C-Careful, your claws." He shook at the notion.

"What do you think I am, a novice?" Karkat snapped, but his voice was soft and breathy. "Just relax and trust me."

"It's kind of difficult when— _ah!_ " Karkat stuck a finger inside, pressing in and out ever so lightly to stretch his anus. His hand jerked erratically; John whined. He inserted a second finger; John gasped and keened into the feeling. After a time, a third; John felt as if he was going to explode from a combination of need and pleasure. "K-Karkat."

"Ready?" All of a sudden, Karkat removed his hand entirely. He hoped that John was stretched enough as he held the man's cheek and kissed him.

"As I'll ever be." He still looked nervous.

"Lift yourself over me, let me guide." John shifted forward and flinched when the troll gave his cock a little stroke. Karkat stroked his own bulge before settling it into place below John's hole, not taking his eyes off the man above him. "It's okay. You're okay. Sit down, slowly."

"Ah!" John exclaimed. "It, it tickles."

"Slowly, slowly." Karkat exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding as his bulge teased and prodded the tight hole before it. He let out a low note deep in his throat.

"It's goi—NGH!" At that moment John's legs gave way and Karkat's bulge sunk all the way in.

" _John!_ " The tentacle-like appendage squirmed and explored the inside as the two got used to the feeling. A bead of  John's sweat dropped onto Karkat's chest. He grunted, "Okay?"

"I'm okay." He paused. "It doesn't hurt. Just. Weird."

"Yeah, weird." He idly traced his red-stained hands across John's milky chest, feeling the slight curve of his muscles. He took the silver chain around his neck and, by impulse, hung its extra length around his own neck. "Wh—"

Karkat struggled to come up with a reason for his actions. "Stay… close to me." All this sweetness, he had no idea where it came from. Unless John wasn't simply a client. "Alright?"

A white-toothed smile. "Alright." He tucked his head into the crook of Karkat's neck, inhaling his musky sweat. Without another word said, he raised his hips and let them fall right back down. A lustful yelp. A purring from Karkat's chest. He lifted, he fell again: another round of moans, hitched breaths and pants. He worked up to a steady pace, letting the troll's hips jerk up into him and slap against his ass. With every thrust, came a louder groan barely muffled by Karkat's shoulder, with every sensation of heat and tightness came a "nngh," an "ahh!" or a "mmn!" from Karkat's throat. The man on the bottom let his hands wander down to John's hips, and then to clutch his cock and stroke it in time with every thrust he put in. The condom started to slip off with how heavily Karkat pumped it out of desire to make John scream, and he ended up pulling the thing off and pressing his thumb down on the slit at the top.

 

John's voice crescendoed and grew higher in pitch, and his nails dug into Karkat's grey shoulders turned light red from heat. A shock of lightening built up in his hips, his muscles clenched so much they ached.

Karkat's whispers were genuine, not the fake ones he muttered to simply please his clients. No, Karkat Vantas was left helpless and moaning inside of John, feeling his legs and feet latch around John's waist and hold him in closer. He did a very rare thing: he repeated John's name, over and over, his voice heavy with arousal and need for a finish. The sound rolled off his tongue with every heated breath: " _John._ "

"Ka-AH! Karkat!" Numb, yet sensitive, boiling hot, yet ice cold. "Kar—kat!" White liquid shot out from John's cock, coating Karkat's hands and splattering his chest with the substance. John's hips began to slow as he fell into euphoria onto Karkat's shoulder, his thighs lax along with his grip. Karkat squirmed, still unfinished but not about to say anything. John pulled away, but looked down to see the bulge still wriggling and about to burst. He kissed Karkat, and with the same hesitance he always had, leaned one hand on the headboard and let another grip his appendage and give it one final stroke that shoved the troll far over the edge.

With a final purring shout, Karkat bucked up into John's hand as his fluid squirted out and smothered the blue-eyed man's face and chest with slick red (it was that moment that Karkat was almost grateful for his prostitution sapping out the majority of his genetic material so there was only a little more than what was normal for humans to be excreted). He threw his head back against the big, fluffy pillows, his legs contracted and his arms fell to his sides. John rolled over and collapsed next to him, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. As Karkat stared at the god-like being before him, he came to a realization that made his chest depress.

 

His job was done.

 

He expected John to get out of bed and start getting cleaned off and dressed.

He expected John to throw a wad of boonies onto his cum-splattered chest and tell him he had five minutes to get the fuck out of there before he culled him.

He expected John to leave him behind.

He didn't.

 

Instead he ran his fingers through Karkat's sweaty black hair, gazed at him softly with a warm smile that formed on his lips.

Instead he whispered, "Do you remember when you said that if I knew anything about you past the fact that all you can offer your own body for my enjoyment, I'd probably turn skyward and erupt like a fiery vomit volcano?" Karkat sighed.

"You have a pretty good memory, for someone so ditzy." John chuckled.

"It hardly was a phrase to forget," John shifted closer to the troll's naked body, pressing his warmth against him, "but I do have a proper response to it now." Karkat raised an eyebrow. "I'm definitely not about to puke all over you." Karkat sighed again, leaned his forehead against John's shoulder and allowed him to wrap a nervous arm around his waist.

"Good, because I'm not in the mood to be cleaning up puked-up cake." Another hum of a chuckle, then a frown.

"Are you going to leave?" he asked. "I know this was… basically your goal. I can give you some money, too, if that's what you want. You… you can leave if you want to. You've been able to all along, if you'd said so." He paused, his blue eyes turning to weathered stone. "Do you want to?" Karkat gave it a bit of thought. Did he want to leave? Did he really want to go to back to the life he lived before, when someone right next to him was more than willing to take him away from all that?

Someone who, despite his status, despite being a stranger, despite not knowing what the fuck he was doing, treated him better than anyone else ever did?

Someone who made him feel just a little bit better about himself, someone who made him feel like he was something special, someone who wanted to cuddle him and keep him rather than just throw him away like the broken object he always thought he was?

 

Why _wouldn't_ he stay?

 

"No," he replied, his voice merely a whisper. "No, I don't want to go." All of a sudden, transparent pink tears slipped out of Karkat's eyes and dripped onto the sheets; he violently rubbed them away with his arm, until John reached out for his wrist and held it still. "No, I don't want to go away. I don't want to go back. I want. To fucking stay, goddammit." His voice choked, his throat clammed up. John leaned in and kissed his forehead, hugged him tighter.

"It's okay. Um, shhhh. It's okay, you don't have to, um, go?" He blushed and wriggled around. "Please don't cry, um. Karkat?"

"I'm not crying, son of a fuck," Karkat grumbled; another few drops slipped down his cheeks. "Not crying."

"You are."

"Not."

"Are." John grinned and nicked a tear off the troll's cheek with his thumb. "Just, don't worry, okay? If I see you worrying then I'll pull a bunch of pranks on you or something. You haven't seen any of them yet, so you should prepare yourself." Karkat snorted.

"How romantic."

"I guess I'll leave that to you then, since I really have no experience with romance or anything." Another snort.

"Can't say that ever again." He gestured towards their naked bodies. John began to snicker.

"I suppose so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so goes the first installment of SCAU! Thank you all for reading, and I hope that you will stick around for the lengthy continuation of this series that includes blackrom, cake making, fluff, fricking and much, much more. 
> 
> But no, the story of our beloved John Crocker and Karkat Vantas doesn't stop here. There's plenty more story to be told c;
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> -Saint Joy

**Author's Note:**

> There's a good reason why I've disappeared from the Johnkat world for the past few months  
> This is that reason  
> (Remember to open all links in new tabs)  
> (This was written with the beautiful imaginative assistance of AO3 user [Vellev](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vellev) so thank her for at least half the things that happen in this story)


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